Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1994493.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      CW_Network_RPF
  Relationship:
      Jensen_Ackles/Jared_Padalecki, chris_kane/genevieve_cortese, Jensen
      Ackles/Original_Male_Character(s), Jensen_Ackles/Mark_Sheppard, Danneel
      Harris/Aldis_Hodge
  Character:
      Jensen_Ackles, Jared_Padalecki, Christian_Kane, Misha_Collins, Mark
      Sheppard, Chad_Michael_Murray, Stephen_Amell, Robbie_Amell, JR_Bourne,
      Jeffrey_Dean_Morgan, Danneel_Harris, Aldis_Hodge
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Slavery, Slave_Jensen, Alternate_Universe_-
      Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate_Universe_-_Modern_Setting, Alternate
      Universe_-_Dark, Superpowers, Bottom_Jensen, Minor_Character_Death, Child
      Abuse, Past_Sexual_Abuse, Dehumanization
  Collections:
      Supernatural_and_J2_Big_Bang_2014
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-07-21 Chapters: 14/14 Words: 63083
****** The Jolly Roger ******
by liliaeth
Summary
     With great powers comes great responsibility, this is a truth that
     Jared has always known. It's why he became a superhero and joined the
     Freedom Squad. But when he follows a lead to capture the mysterious
     supervillain only known as the Brain, he comes into possession of the
     slave Jensen. As he tries to get information on Jensen's owner It’s
     up to Jared to get Jensen to see him as a friend, and to decide if
     the society he grew up believing in is worth defending
Notes
     Thank you so much to my wonderful artist uke-sama-sensei
     And to my betas without whom this would have been a lot harder to
     read ;-)
***** Chapter 1 *****
[ photo 01_coverartsmall_zps9972c099.png]
Her labor had started three hours ago. She’d been busy with doing the dishes in
the mess hall when she’d felt the pains. She’d spent the rest of the work
detail begging for the baby to be patient, to wait just a little bit longer.
When her water broke she’d been on her way back to her quarters. It was only
then that the guards had brought her to the delivery rooms.
There was one other woman going through the same thing a few beds away from
her. The girl was screaming, too young to hold back. Not that Donna herself was
all that much older.
Donna didn’t know much about being a mother, all she knew was the glimpses
she’d caught from the families she’d served. But those glimpses were nothing
compared to her reality.
The birth of a child should be something to celebrate. The parents should be
bursting with joy. Looking at toys and cribs, paging through books with names
and meanings, wondering which would be good enough. A mother’s first sight of
her child should bring a smile to her lips and promises of hope for the future
she’d wish for that child to have. There should be joy in the world,
congratulations, and people should smile at the new life entering the world.
The baby’s room should be filled with toys, and parents should be wondering
which color to paint the nursery.
Donna didn’t have that hope, there was no joy that came with this birth. When
her son was born, her eyes were full of tears. She held back her screams as she
pushed her child out into the cold darkness of the delivery room. The old slave
woman helping her with delivery cut the cord connecting her to the baby and
Donna begged. “Please, just one moment,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. The
woman hesitated just a second, and finally she gave in and let her hold her
child, a kindness that would undoubtedly be paid for dearly. Donna didn’t know
why she did so, but it meant the world to her. The old woman’s eyes kept
darting back and forth, she looked over her shoulder so the supervisors
wouldn’t notice, ready to take the baby away the second they came near. Donna
lay there, holding the little boy as his beautiful green eyes stared up at her
in wonder. She kept the child close just a moment longer. Part of her wanted to
kill him, anything to save him from the fate that awaited him. But she
couldn't. Instead she fed her son from her body. The small amount of milk she
had to give him wouldn’t be enough to feed a kitten. But the little boy suckled
her breast as if he were trying to cling on for as long as he was allowed to do
so as if a part of him understood that this was all the love he would ever get.
He was so soft, so beautiful. She could see his father’s features in his face.
“Hush little baby, don’t you cry,” she sang, soft enough for no one but her son
to hear her voice. “Mommy’s gonna sing you a lullaby. Everything's gonna be
alright. The Lord's gonna answer your prayer tonight. “ She forced the words
out, as they broke her heart for the lie she knew them for. ”Hush little baby,
don't you cry. Mommy's gonna sing you a lullaby. Everything's gonna be alright.
The Lord's gonna answer your prayer tonight.”
And she did pray. She prayed to a God that she knew wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t
care, that her child would find hope. She prayed with the heart of a mother
that he’d have a kind Master who cared for him. She prayed that though he would
never have freedom, that at least there’d be joy and kindness for him in his
life. That he would find someone to care for, good days to remember and keep
him strong as he was pulled through the dark valleys of despair that ruled a
slave’s life.
It was a desperate prayer that she knew wouldn’t be answered. But it was all
she had left to give. She whispered a name in his ears, a private name that was
just theirs, one he’d never remember but that he would carry whether he knew it
or not. She wanted to fight when they tore the boy from her arms, but she was
too broken to do so. She refused to turn over as she stared at the free women
who picked up her child and rolled him up in a sack, warm enough so he wouldn’t
die, but lacking any kind of affection.
They took him away, out of the room.
He was crying, first crying for her, then screaming in pain. There was nothing
she could do to stop them from putting the mark on his face. They didn’t bring
him back. Slaves weren’t mothers, her son wasn’t hers. Her boy belonged to the
auction house that had bought her from her previous owners. Just merchandise
making its way across the market.
She got sold the day after, given a night to recover before going on the market
so she’d look her best. The woman who bought her wanted a nursemaid for her own
baby.
And every time Donna fed the baby, sang to him and cared for him, she imagined
her own little boy and despaired for him, terrified of the life that lay before
him. Every once in a while she'd think back on those bright green eyes and wish
she could have given him the mercy of death. But even that was beyond her
power, so instead she let her tears fall on her face, wiping them away before
her mistress could see them.
She was a slave, and so was he, and that was all there was to it.
***** Chapter 2 *****
 [ photo header_zpse948596c.png]
[ photo 02_divider-j_zps2102f953.png]
Jared slipped out of his jacket as soon as his feet touched the ground, letting
it sink down on the coat rack as he kicked off his shoes and went up to the
bathroom. He used his powers to turn on the television and grabbed a few pieces
of candy left out for him next to the sink.
“It’s an age of miracles,” the voice on the television proudly stated, the
room’s tech projected images of the team over the wall across from him. The
Freedom Squad looked good as usual, strong, trustworthy, with the Blue Yonder
in the middle as a silent force of authority. Jared turned away from the
images, trying not to think of having Bourne or any of the others look at him
as he pulled off his clothes and stepped under the refreshing shower. He knew
it was more of a mental thing that anything physical. Dirt didn’t really stick
to him, but it didn’t make a shower feel any less good.
“To be alive, to be human in the twenty-first century can be strange. And yet
society has grown used to the existence of children of wonder since the time
they first appeared almost a century ago. Even now, science is still unaware
what caused this massive change in what it means to be human. People have
suggested genetics , a new level of evolution, the Lord God’s interference, or
merely a mistake of nature. But whatever the reason, there walk those amongst
us who are special. “
Jared never felt all that special. But it was a better term to go with than
freak, or abomination. He grabbed the shampoo and poured almost half a bottle
on his hair, letting his fingers move past his scalp and blinking as some of it
almost seeped into his eyes.
“They do not count in high numbers. Not even one child in a million counts
amongst the miracles, but every once in a while a child will be born with a
destiny beyond the mundane. They may look like you or me, but they are meant
for more. They show the superiority of what humanity and human freedom are
capable of, walking with us as gods amongst men.”
Lights flashed on the screen and Jared blinked, turning his head away for a
second until his eyes adjusted. He flinched at scenes from a more lawless age.
Images of the twenties, the thirties. The time before the bureau of superhuman
affairs had been organized. When young superhumans would break out without
warning and cause chaos with no one to guide them along the right path.
He washed the soap out of his face and hair, lingering a last second under the
water, dematerializing for a split second to allow the water to fall to the
shower floor. Drying himself off with a towel was unnecessary after that, but
he did it anyway.
“In order to deal with this new reality, the authorities created laws, ways to
keep society from becoming victimized by these children of the new age and show
that we could live together. Organizations were created all across the globe to
track down new break-outs, train and educate them and make them useful members
of society. But even then, many of them were too powerful to be controlled by
anyone but their own kind.”
Jared grabbed a shirt and a pair of boxers before sinking down on the couch,
putting a few more bits of candy in between his lips as he stared at the
screen.
There were more images of the earliest days of the Squad. Standing there in
outdated costumes that could only look silly from hindsight vision, but that
must have looked quite dashing back in the day.
“Some governments made the mistake of attempting to control their superhumans,
enslaving them and training them amongst those incapable of taking care of
themselves. But society soon came to regret this decision, since all it did was
create weapons that would end up turning on their creators. Superhumans are too
important a resource to waste amongst the dregs. “
“These days superhumans have a choice: to live a normal life after learning to
control their abilities, to use their powers in civil service, or to the sake
of their own profit. Within limitations of course. And it is through that
choice that some,“ another image of the Squad helping out during an earthquake,
“became heroes, for all of us to look up to. Heroes who took up the call of
duty and came to serve humanity, risking their lives to defend society, helping
out during natural disasters, and fighting those who turn against the law. ”
That much was true. Superhumans were human first and foremost and as much as
Jared hated it, not all of these new humans grew up to be good guys. The law
declared supers a group upon their own, dealt with by law in a way that to some
set them apart from the rest of society. All this to defend the world they
lived in and made it livable for all, supers as well as regular humans. But
those laws could feel confining, so naturally there were people who struggled
with those limitations. Jared put his feet on the table, rubbing his hands over
the couch, trying to smooth it out. He’d never managed to get rid of that urge
to grab a blanket, even though his status as a living generator kept him from
feeling the cold.
They all had their weaknesses, for Jared, it was that he’d never quite managed
to convince his body that it didn’t require those little comforts like heat or
softness. For others…some just figured that they didn’t owe society anything.
That they were free men and women and no one could tell them what to do, even
if it meant using your powers to put hundreds of people out of work. Or using
telepathy to find out market information that no one was supposed to have. But
worst of all were the ones for whom even that wasn’t enough.
Some of them went full out supervillain, some in it for profit, others out just
to cause harm, and some… some just became villains because society wouldn’t
allow them to be anything else.
It was a widely known secret. Officially there were no slaves with superpowers.
Slaves were criminals, debtors, people incapable of looking after themselves
and those who descended from them. So popular understanding had always assumed
that since slaves were barely above animals, and in some cases even beneath
them, that there was no way any of them could ever display as superhuman. That
assumption was flat out wrong. But it was an assumption that those in charge
couldn’t allow to be disproven.
And so, they covered it up. If a slave was found to have powers they were
killed instantly. There were some who thought that it would be better to make
use of these rare cases, but the authorities in country after country voted
against it. It wouldn’t do to give the world the idea that slaves were anything
but subhuman. To admit that even slaves could be supers… it would grant them a
humanity that was above their place in life. Better to kill a few slaves now
and then, than risk them turning against humanity.
There were too many memories of those early days of chaos. When enslaved super
humans had led slave revolts and stood on the barricades fighting for the
freedom of all slaves. It was in those days that a choice had been made, to
give all superhumans who’d been enslaved a choice. To side with the slaves, or
to live.
No one ever knew who’d made which decision, but in the end, any and all smart
supers had sided with the free and those who’d resisted had been killed or
imprisoned. But no matter how much people kept trying to ignore it, some slaves
kept being born with powers. And the law had no choice but to gently euthanize
them before they became a threat. In a way it was a kindness.
Some of the super-powered slaves managed to escape this fate, the ones with
subtle gifts, the ones that got their powers when they were old enough to hide
them. But they knew better than to talk about what set them apart. And when
they were found out, they were met with experimentation, to find out just what
superhuman bodies were capable of. Many of them prayed their owners would be
kind enough to kill them instead of turning them over to the Bureau. The rules
after all said that slaves with powers had to be killed, they said nothing
about their deaths having to be either humane or fast.
These days most supers kept away from most things to do with slavery. Supers
were too important, spoiled in the lap of luxury, and they damn well knew what
they’d lose if they went up against the natural order of things. It was how
they’d been taught and only very few of those trained to use their powers would
bother to waste their time on those so far beneath them. And when they did,
well… a slave’s life meant little more than that of any other possession that
could be ignored or pushed aside in times of emergency.
It was a way of thinking that Jared had never been able to accept.
 
[_photo_02_divider-j_zps2102f953.png]
 
Jared was five, the first time he realized that the other kids in his playgroup
weren’t like him. All the other kids in the group were playing spaceships,
making sounds as they hit the others and waving their hands as they were flying
through the room. He didn’t even notice that the game stopped being fun when he
raised up into the air and his body started glowing, because he didn’t
understood why none of the others were flying for real. Wasn’t that the fun
part?
Julie started screaming, and then Toby and Jake did as well. And before long,
others joined in with them. Jared didn’t know why, but he figured he might as
well join in as he hung there in the air, following after them, while wondering
what had happened, looking around, trying to find out what was so scary. It
took him a while to realize it was him.
Once he did, he came down and sat down, stunned. And then like the five-year-
old he was, he started crying. When the cops finally dared to enter the
building, they found him sitting there amidst the empty playroom and the
wreckage of a normal day. Just a little boy, crying his heart out because he
didn’t understand why the others didn’t want to play with him.
The superheroes came to talk to his parents that week, telling them that Jared
was special, that he needed training. The Avenging Angel himself knelt by
Jared’s side and told him that one day, Jared too might become a hero and save
the day. Jared ducked out from under his blanket covered in Spider-Man symbols
and looked up at the winged hero in awe. The blue eyed man gave Jared his hand
and Jared walked with him, his Blue Yonder plushie held close.
That was one toy that didn’t last long past meeting the real thing.
Jared was one of the youngest in his training group. He was too young for most
of the group training sessions, so instead he was left with the Avenging Angel,
Misha who would put him through his drills and then reward him with plenty of
praise and cookies when he got it right. The older heroes would roll their eyes
when they saw Jared floating across the room, only to do a dive bomb on an
intended target. While the others ran circuits and did battle training, Jared
was taught how to keep from bursting through electronics and how to keep his
form solid and keep from blinding others with his blasts.
It could have been hard, but with Misha it became easy. He made it fun.
Most kids only started to develop their powers at ten or older, most of them
didn’t need training this early in life, but Jared was special. “Dangerous”,
he’d heard them whisper. Though none of them would ever say so to his face. He
wasn’t allowed to go home each night like some of the other local kids, and
when his mom and dad came to visit him, they sounded awkward, like they weren’t
quite sure how to treat him. Jared tried to behave normal, be a good boy like
he knew his mom would want him to. And soon enough his parents realized that he
was still their Jared. Things became easier between them after that. And when
he was finally allowed to go home during Christmas it was like Santa Claus had
given him everything he’d ever wanted.
It wasn’t easy being the only kid his age who lived at the Squad’s
headquarters. There were a few others who did, but for them it was more a case
of their parents living too far off, and in one case, having parents who were
too scared of him to want him at home. It was plenty of reason for Jared and
Chad to become best friends of all time. No matter how often Chad hacked every
single computer system in the city, regardless of how often he was punished for
doing so.
As much as Jared missed his parents, he loved living at the Freedom Squad’s
headquarters. They had all the best toys, huge televisions to play games on and
best of all, he was not just allowed but encouraged to use his powers as much
as he wanted to. No matter how often he bounced into things, the others would
encourage him to get back up and try again. They smiled as he used his powers
to light up the room, and most of all his friends enjoyed it when he loaded up
their batteries for them and how none of his toys ever stopped working.
There was no keeping secret, no pretending to be normal, no fear in people’s
eyes when he accidentally overloaded the microwave.
He loved the sandwiches that Adrian made for him and the other kids, and he
would always help the young slave to clean up the mess in the kitchen and
dining room after the older kids had already left for their classes. A lot of
them mocked Jared for that, saying that cleaning up was slave work. But Jared
had been raised better than that, and he knew his mom would be oh so
disappointed in him if he didn’t display some basic courtesy, even to a slave.
As he got older, the other kids that used to be his playmates started leaving
the school, joining established heroes as their sidekicks, or starting off on
their own like Chad. Because like the older boy said, he didn’t want to prance
around in colorful tights and let some old dude get all the credit for his
work. Even if most of what Chad did was behind the scenes anyhow. Not that he’d
ever admit it. And sure other kids joined the school, many of them far closer
to his own age, but Jared never quite clicked with them the way he had with the
boys and girls that had treated him like a combination of baby brother and kid
mascot during the first years of his life in training. They were too new and it
was hard to pay attention to them when he had other friends already.
He begged their mentors to let him become a sidekick already, he was ready, so
damn ready. But even Misha, the one adult who was supposed to believe in him,
told Jared that he was too young to become active. Misha had promised Jared’s
mom to keep him safe, and the Angel always kept his word. No matter how unfair
it seemed at the time.
Jared would yell at him, tell him how unfair it was, but it made no difference.
And then Misha would fly off, because he had to patrol. He was busy. There was
yet another attack pulled by the Jolly Roger. It sounded like excuses to get
away from their argument to Jared.
When Jared was twelve, he finally said screw it to it all. He had more training
and was better than any of the new kids in his class. And then Robbie, who’d
only joined the school two years ago, was allowed to team up with his brother,
Trigger, and it was just so unfair. Jared figured that if he could sneak along
with the adults and show them what he was capable of - that they’d have no
choice but to let him at least become a sidekick, if not a hero in his own
right. He was a kid, had no clue of what he was getting into and it would
almost get him killed.
The team was after the Jolly Roger again. The man had taken over the Capitol,
his robots prowling through DC while the Jolly Roger himself held the UN
council hostage until they gave in to his demands. Jared had never understood
his name. Why call yourself the Jolly Roger when you weren’t even pirate
themed? But then, when did villains make sense?
Half the team went off to fight the bad guy’s robots and stop his plan to
conquer the world, while the rest of them took their private jet to the Jolly
Roger’s headquarters to take out the man himself. Mostly they were hoping to
get their hands on the Jolly Roger’s partner and right hand man, the mysterious
Brain, who was rarely if ever seen in public. The Jolly Roger was ruthless, but
it was the Brain that provided him with most if not all of his weapons. It
would be useless to take out the direct threat and leave the Mastermind behind
the throne untouched.
Jared remained hidden in the jet, invisible, untouchable, until even Tom, aka
Tank, left his place at the helm of the jet. Then the young boy snuck out on
his own and moved his way through the halls of the base. He didn’t realized it
at the time, but it would scare him to know how lucky he was that the team had
already taken out most of the security measures. Between the lasers, robots and
guards, Jared could have gotten himself killed a dozen times over, but not
knowing this, he was applauding himself for being all stealthy and finally
being on a mission, even if none of the others knew he was there.
He hid of course, floated up to the ceiling the first time some of the guards
came running towards him. His heart raced through his throat every single
moment and he felt alive, more so than he’d ever been before. He knew he should
be fighting the bad guys, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He was
scared, but pretended it was because they were already running away, and he
hadn’t gone along to hunt after those too scared to stay and fight the team.
He didn’t want to admit that he was scared of actually facing grown men, actual
criminals. After the third time he encountered guards, he quickly slipped into
a room with an open door when he realized that more were heading his way. The
lights were off and when he turned them on, he realized he was in some kind of
lab.
It looked a bit like Mike’s lab back at school, only with fewer flashing lights
and a lot more lab tubes filled with fuming liquids, boards filled with
equations, and most of all electronics. The place was quiet, and the light
shone harshly, but there were posters on the wall and a robot that, when Jared
touched it, played a short rock tune. At first Jared thought the place was
empty, but then he accidentally managed to push just the right spot on one
wall, and harsh rock notes spread across the space, so loud it hurt his ears.
It took Jared a few more touches before he managed to shut the noise down. He
stared around, the lab didn’t look like what he’d think a serious
supervillain’s workspace would be like. But then again, what did he know?
Jared moved up to a door at the back of the lab and kicked it open. Then he had
to push it the rest of the way, because the door was far too heavy for him. He
turned his body to energy, shining a light that touched every shadow in the
room wherever he went. There was a cot on the right side, a couple of pillows
at the top, and when he gave the place a better look, he quickly found a bunch
of sketchpads and a cupboard with a small selection of pairs of sweat pants in
it. He also found a box filled with the kind of stuff Chad would talk about,
but that Jared knew he wasn’t supposed to know the names of. But he closed that
one as soon as he found it. The room looked lived in, dark, sober, but as if it
shouldn’t be empty. So Jared kept moving on. He nearly shrieked when his light
reflected on a face in the dark.
It was a boy, only a few years older than Jared himself. The kid was naked,
except for a gleaming metallic collar around his neck; there was a bar code
stamped on the back of his neck, the ink serving as a visible microchip holding
all the information on the slave’s existence. His entire upper back was covered
with the scars of a recent whipping. Jared flinched back at the sight of it.
He’d only seen Adrian whipped once, and that had been Michael and Tom’s fault.
The two of them had stolen some cans of beer from Hoechlin’s personal stash and
Adrian had refused to finger them for it. Hoechlin had been pissed, he was
already inclined to lose his temper over little or nothing, but everyone knew
to stay away from the man’s booze.
The kids loved Adrian, but none of them would give themselves up for a slave’s
sake. And Adrian never would have asked them either.
But even then Hoechlin hadn’t pierced Adrian’s flesh like this, leaving long
bloody gashes that would turn into scars. “It’s pointless to damage your own
property,” Hoechlin had always said, even before he left the team, doors
slamming, pissed off for some reason no one ever bothered to explain. “Only a
fool would go that far beyond discipline,” he’d say. “Why destroy something if
there was no real need for it? Not unless the slave had really lost sight of
his place in the world and needs a tangible reminder. And even then there has
to be limits.” Bourne didn’t have the same hesitation that Hoechlin did, which
is why it was lucky he wasn’t responsible for Adrian’s discipline.
This boy’s Master seemed to side more with Bourne’s point of view than
Hoechlin’s.
Jared couldn’t allow himself to do nothing. He slowly whispered words that he
hoped sounded soothing to the young slave’s ears as he looked for a key. Once
he found it, he once again took solid form and unlocked the cuffs, unable to
stop the boy from crumbling down to his knees once his wrists were released.
Jared was about to get down next to him on the floor when the door slammed open
and he jumped in front of the slave, his fists lighting up in response to the
threat. Sure, his light blasts wouldn’t do much yet, but at least they’d sting.
There were five of them, huge compared to Jared himself, even if looking back
they were probably regular size compared to other adults, dressed in those
minion outfits that the Jolly Roger tended to dress his people up in. They
aimed their guns at him and Jared reacted without even thinking about it.
The next second all five were down, their bodies burned. Jared stared around,
looked back at the boy behind him. The slave was fine, he’d somehow managed to
limit the blast to the direction threatening him, but he had no idea how. The
smell was horrifying, burnt human flesh. Jared didn’t want to smell it, felt
about ready to throw up. And then another man stood in the door, but try as he
might, he didn’t have it in him for another burst, even if part of him weren’t
repulsed by the very idea.
He stared up at a mountain of flesh, huge bull like horns on his face and small
pinprick eyes, the Minotaur. He’d heard about him on the news, one of the Blue
Yonder’s archenemies. He was a killer, a murderer and no matter how Jared
tried, all he could do was light up, but if he did that, he’d leave the boy
defenseless. The man didn’t even speak, he just growled, getting ready to come
storming towards him. Jared had to stop himself from screaming when a burst of
electricity sent the bad guy to his knees, his limbs shaking, his face caught
in a silent scream mere seconds before he crumbled down, falling on top of
Jared’s victims.
“Jared!”
Fighting back tears, Jared trembled as he stared at the blue clad hero
currently towering in the door. His hands still circled with blue electricity
escaping his grasp before he got it under control.
“I uhm…” Jared stuttered and stared up in wide-eyed terror, praying that the
Yonder would have pity on him, the way that Adrian did when he begged for a
third piece of pie. It didn’t work. His throat felt starched, as if something
was about to come up. He didn’t think he’d ever get rid of the memory of that
stench of burned flesh.
“Damn it, kid, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bourne, aka the Blue
Yonder was one of the toughest guys in the squad, the big boss, the leader, and
right now he was looking at Jared as if he were the most disappointing thing
he’d ever seen. And that was scarier than any of the Jolly Roger’s men could
ever have been.
“I wanted to help,” he managed to get out, his voice breaking on the words. He
was sure that Bourne could hear his bones shaking.
“You wanted to help?” Bourne stared at him in disbelief, and if Jared didn’t
know better he could almost imagine smoke coming out of the brutish hero’s
ears. “How? By sneaking into a supervillain’s lair and getting yourself
captured. By almost getting killed? For all you knew it could have been the
Jolly Roger sneaking up on you, or worse, that apprentice of his, the Brain.”
As if Jared wasn’t feeling as small as an ant already.
His lip trembled, his body was shaking and shame crept over his back. The slave
behind him was starting to move and Jared quickly returned his attention to
him. “Are you alright?” The slave stared up at him in surprise even as he moved
to his knees.
“Yes, ser,” the boy said, but Jared didn’t believe it for a second, not with
the blood still flowing from the slave’s wounds and the shaking of his voice.
Jared reached for him, about to put his hand on the kid’s arm.
“Jared!” He flinched back, returning his attention to Bourne.
Bourne was even more pissed off than he’d been before.
“I was just….”
“Wasting your time on a slave.” It would have been easier if he’d yelled, but
the false calm in his tone was worse. “I wasn’t finished with you, boy.”
Jared should have stood up to him, said something. But he was a twelve year old
boy, looking up at the greatest man of his time and all he could do was tear
up, begging for the man to just notice.
“He needs help,” was all he got out.
“it’s a fucking slave. It’ll manage” Bourne sounded dismissive, as if Jared was
worried about something as meaningless as a plush toy. Jared was shaking on his
feet, too scared to contradict the adult. “I’m sure he’s had worse. Now I…”
Jared shivered at the thought of all the things the young slave could have been
through. Bourne didn’t pay any attention, for him it was over, time to move on
as he grabbed Jared’s arm tried to pull him along. “I’m sorry,” Jared
whimpered, his wrist ached under the iron tight grip, so scared he lost mass
and slipped out of Bourne’s hold. He grabbed hold of his wrist, rubbing the
soreness, more in his mind now than his body.
“You’d better be.” Then Bourne glared down on the slave still lying on the
floor. The kid seemed desperate to get in a proper kneel but failing to do so.
Unable to run, all he could do was flinch away from Bourne as the hero
approached him. Jared desperately wanted to get in between the two of them. But
he was too scared, so he just stood still, waiting while Bourne gave the older
boy a quick look over. The black slave tattoo covered the flesh above and
underneath the kid’s right eye, and Bourne ordered the slave to look at him.
The boy quickly complied, shivering as he did so.
“Guess we couldn’t be lucky enough to find the Jolly Roger or the Brain
themselves skulking out here.“ Jared noticed that the boy’s eyes widened in
fear, but he guessed that was to be expected. Bourne could be scary when he
wanted to be, even to a free boy like Jared. Everyone was scared around Bourne,
slaves were no exception to that rule.
“Maybe he knows where they are?” Jared offered, pointing at the slave.
“Ah forget it, that boy’s nothing more than a bed slave, he probably hasn’t
left that room except to get fucked in years. What would a slave like that know
about anything.” And with that the poor broken kid was dismissed, as if he were
of no importance. Just another man’s tool. A tool with legs that Bourne could
order to follow them, so he didn’t even have to carry it out. Jared could see
the pain in those green eyes as the kid desperately tried to get to his feet
and obey orders.
Jared wanted to help him to his feet, but he stopped at the older hero’s glare.
It was obvious that the slave was barely capable of standing, that moving was
too much to ask. And still the boy somehow managed to follow them, leaning up
against the wall to stay up while Jared pretended he had a hard time following,
just to keep Bourne from going too fast, to keep the slave from falling over
again, to keep him from getting punished because of an order that was
impossible to follow. The pain the boy was in had to be immense. Worse than
when Jared had turned over his ankle trying to use Chad’s skateboard and had
fallen off the stairs. Jared wished he was brave enough to stand up to Bourne
and help the young slave. He knew he wasn’t.
Jared wondered what a bed slave was. Adrian was a kitchen slave, but Jared
didn’t think anyone would bother to get a slave just to make their bed. That’d
be silly. So someone was using this boy, for sex. The kid was only a few years
older than Jared himself, Jared couldn’t imagine wanting to have sex with
anyone, even if he were the slave’s age.
The cops arrived en masse a little bit later, swarming the place. Their job was
to clean it out of minions and human followers of the Jolly Roger after the
heroes were done. Bourne stopped some of them and told them about the slave
they’d found, and Jared watched as one of the cops noted the boy’s injuries
while ordering the slave to turn around. Jared wanted to yell at them that the
kid needed help first. But he knew he was in enough trouble as it was.
“What do they call you, boy?” the older cop said. The man was a sergeant. Jared
didn’t like the way he was leering at the boy. It made his back itch, but he
didn’t understand why.
“Jensen, ser. Master calls me Jensen. I am designate AC-LS79564.”
“Good boy,” the cop said before typing the number into his pad. “There it is.
Property of Mark Sheppard, acquired three years ago, designation companion.
Age, 15.”
Mark Sheppard, the Jolly Roger’s real name. Even Jared knew that much. One of
the richest men in the city, and the Squad had been trying to prove his guilt
for years. Jared wondered how Bourne felt now that it was over. Bourne didn’t
look happy.
So Jared tried to stay small, out of the way, staring at the slave, Jensen, who
was trembling on his feet. But why would he be scared now, it was all over,
he’d get a new Master, one who wouldn’t abuse him. But then after being owned
by a bad guy, maybe the boy didn’t realize he’d been saved.
Bourne was talking to Stephen and Tom, who were already waiting on the plane,
but Jared couldn’t help but stare at the blood on the slave’s back. When the
medics finally had some time to spend on him the boy screamed for a second as
they touched him. It was just a second, before he pulled back the noise. Jared
could see the fight in his eyes, desperate not to show his pain, to endure.
But none of that seemed to matter to the others who were already getting on the
jet. Bourne was fuming, calling for Jared to get his butt to their transport
when Jared heard the cop tell the boy, Jensen, that they’d get him a new owner
soon. Slaves taken in custody rarely stayed there long. Jared hoped that
Jensen’s new owners were nicer than the one he had now. They had to be …right?
Jared tried to ignore the cops snigger about the boy’s lips, ignored the sound
of a zipper going down. Jensen was safe, Jared had saved him. He tried not to
think about the stench of burning flesh, tried not to think about the look in
the slave’s eyes, tried to obey his own orders.
He had himself to worry about.
***** Chapter 3 *****
[_photo_02_divider-j_zps2102f953.png]
“The police still have no new leads on last week’s blatant attack by
supervillains on the Metro City Armory. Police suspect the Brain is responsible
for the assault, leaving five police officers in critical condition. The
weapons, tech and slaves stolen in the attack still haven’t been found.
“In other news, there is still no trace of the children kidnapped from the
Daring Do Nursery on the East Side. Fears reign that the children were marked
and have already been sold. Their grieving parents can do nothing but wait for
a resolution.”
Jared turned off the television and stood up, his wrist band warning him of
another code. A bank robbery. Another one. At least nobody had gotten hurt in
this one. The odd bit was that it had all the hallmarks of the Brain’s MO, at
least as it had been until a few months ago when robberies by a gang working
for a mysterious Mastermind, whom everyone assumed was the Brain, had started
getting more and more violent, leaving innocent people in shreds.
Not to mention the kidnappings. By now, parents were almost begging for a
ransom demand because when they didn’t get one, it meant their children were
lost forever. Most of the children taken lately were from well off families,
going to good schools, taken from high class nurseries and kindergarden yards.
The few found had been marked as slaves and had already been sold on the
market, the parents left with nothing but the money that their children would
have been worth if they’d sold them themselves. There was no way out of
slavery, not even for those children born free and stolen from their parents.
It was too dangerous for it to be otherwise, they couldn’t risk slaves trying
to pretend to be free men and walk free. Better a few innocents get lost in the
system, than for someone to try and pass slave children as fully human.
He drove his motorcycle to the bank. He could have flown, but he liked to have
a view of the city from the ground. It made him feel closer to the rest of
humanity that he was sworn to protect.
He parked the bike and looked around, checking for clues that others might have
missed, well aware of how full of himself that made him sound. The bank’s
marble hallway felt cold, grand, an attempt at making the bank look classic
rather than the new building it was that had only been put up a year ago after
the last one had been taken down in a tussle between Sugar and the Blue Yonder.
Jared turned himself into a hologram of solid light to avoid walking through
the newly buffed floor at the entrance. He’d spotted the two slaves working on
it and had no intention to ruin their work. When he regained solid mass the
bank manager was already waiting for him. He didn’t think the man had even
noticed what Jared had done. Good, people always gave him weird looks when he
actually showed respect to a slave’s work.
He passed a young slave girl who was pushing a cart filled with coffee cups on
his way. Jared smiled at the teenager. She couldn’t be more than thirteen,
dressed in a revealing uniform that only showed just how flat her chest still
was and how thin her thighs were, making her look even younger. She looked like
a doll, far more than a woman. The manager started thanking Jared for coming
and Jared quickly put a stop to that. He knew that if he didn’t end this right
now, he’d still be here hours from now. Instead he got to see the camera
footage of the past twenty-four hours. He quickly recorded it before asking the
guards for their eye witness report. They hadn’t seen anything. Jared hadn’t
expected otherwise, just like he didn’t expect the camera footage to show
anything.
If they had, then the Brain wouldn’t have been as allusive as he was, and his
reign of terror wouldn’t have lasted nearly as long as it had. Not with every
hero in the city seeing it as their top priority to capture the Mastermind
behind countless crimes. Regardless of how few could be proven to have any
connection to the man, if he even was a man.
Jared knew that logically, not all crimes attributed to the Brain were actually
committed by the villain in question. It was easy for cops and heroes alike to
give up looking and say, ‘It has to be one of the Brain’s’, even if there were
little or no evidence to link him to those crimes.
But that didn’t mean he was innocent in all cases.
The Brain was one of the few supervillains in the city who had never been
caught in the act. He was a behind the scenes planner who rarely worked with
others, and when he did, it was never more than once. He only hired the best
and even then only in positions that his own droids couldn’t fill. By now it
was almost a matter of honor for criminals to be connected to the man.
“What about the slaves?” Jared asked. “Were they locked in at night?”
They weren’t, but when Jared asked to speak to them, the manager didn’t see any
reason for it, they were just slaves. Jared insisted.
Jared insisted when he talked to the floor washers. Jared insisted when he
talked to the kitchen slaves, and then he insisted to talk to the others. Until
he sat in a chair looking down at the young girl he’d seen earlier. She kept
her eyes on the floor as she knelt before him, the bank manager standing behind
her, seemingly annoyed that a man like Jared would waste his time talking to
slaves. And then she started talking.
The girl had been finishing up work in the back rooms when the thieves slipped
through. Two black droids had moved past her as she was getting supplies.
They’d turned to her for a second before ignoring her as they’d floated past
her. She’d tried to get to the guards, but when they’d seen nothing on their
screens, they’d told her to get back to work and stop lazing about. When she’d
tried to warn them a second time, one of the guards had disciplined her for
talking out of place and sent her back to her work, ordering her to clean the
windows if she were so bored. She’d obeyed. She hadn’t dared try a third time.
Jared noticed the lash marks on her hand that still hadn’t fully faded away. He
didn’t mention them.
Jared gnashed his teeth. If the guards had listened, they might have actually
caught the Brain in action. No matter how good his droids were, he’d have had
to be in the area at least to get them timed as he did. But of course, the girl
was just a slave. It’s not like they had eyes to see, a brain to think or a
mouth to speak. Jared knew the other heroes thought he was a softie on slave
issues. But he hated how most people just ignored slaves’ contributions to
life, when they didn’t actively beat the crap out of them just because they
felt like it.
Slave Rights organizations tried to improve things, to get laws put in place to
give slaves some protections. But the fines currently in place were far too low
to have any impact. Dogs had more protections than slaves did in this world. At
least when an owner beat up his dog in the middle of the street, people would
call the cops on them. If you did the same to a slave, they’d just wonder what
the slave had done wrong.
It wasn’t that Jared was an aboli, he knew all too well that slaves couldn’t
handle living on their own. But he’d been raised to believe that freedom came
with responsibility, and part of that responsibility should be to take care of
the wellbeing of those who couldn’t care for themselves. Abusing someone that
fell in your guardianship just seemed wrong to him.
And yet, even the people he looked up to didn’t seem to see things the same
way. Case in point, his best friend, Chad.
“The Brain? Again?” Chad was playing a game while he was supposed to be on
duty. No one ever called him on it, not like Chad needed his full attention
when he was working with computers. His unconscious mind did most of the work
anyway.
Jared nodded at the vidphone.
“We could have had him, Chad. “
Chad groaned. And yes, Jared knew this was an issue he’d been known to drone on
and on about. It’s not like he was unaware how much he annoyed his friends with
it. But sometimes he wondered how they could all be raised with all the values
of serving and protecting society and the people in it, while ignoring
literally millions of people with no rights whatsoever. It was the way of the
world, slavery kept the world economy running as well as it did and had since
the dawn of time. But didn’t that make it even more important to make sure that
those who served were treated humanely?
“You can’t expect people to go in against everything they know, just because it
would make your life easier, Jared.”
“It’s not….” But looking at his friend’s eyes on the interface, Jared just gave
up. Even Chad would never understand. Chad was one of his best friends, but
when it came down to slaves, all he saw were tools, to be used and discarded as
needed. Chad might understand that there was no use in mistreating said tools,
but they still weren’t people to him. None of them would think any different.
All they saw was the tattoo, but all Jared could see was the fear in that poor
girl’s eyes. The trembling of the slaves’ limbs as yet another customer waded
right through their work in the lobby, forcing them to repeat the line even
though they wouldn’t be given extra time to finish the job.
The drive back to headquarters was slow and almost made him regret that he
hadn’t just flown to the scene. No one stopped him when he parked his bike. He
just shrugged and opened his palm computer, hoping to find some solution to
this problem. All they had was a car that had been seen near the scene of the
crime. It wasn’t even parked suspiciously, there was nothing whatsoever that
made it stand out. And yet….
Jared linked to the mainframe and had them follow the trace of the car as he
headed up to Chad’s computer lair. They almost missed it when the car changed
colors and went from beige to green. Soon there was nothing left to be found,
nothing but a general direction. Jared refused to give up. He’d come too far
already.
It took him three hours of careful watching before he finally found the car
again, using the satellite and ignoring about a dozen privacy laws. But it was
worth it, to see the car sitting in front of a driveway. He had an address, and
soon he’d have a name. Oh sure, he had nothing to prove it, not yet, most of
what he had would be dismissed in court. But at least it gave him somewhere to
start.
And he had Chad. Chad was still willing to help him out. If there was one thing
Chad was good for, then it was backing up Jared in the name of friendship. It
didn’t matter that they disagreed, it didn’t matter if they fought. All Jared
had to do was ask and Chad would walk through fire for him. Friendship like
that was terrifying, and Jared would risk nothing to lose it. So if he brought
Chad a free beer while he was working and got the chips Chad liked so Chad
could steal them from him, then well... it was the least he could do.
Jared took a quick look at the name on the home owner transcript, Jeffrey Dean
Morgan. A scientist working for Kripke Incorporated. One of the smartest men in
the country. It fit, but something felt of about it. In a way it was far too
easy to track the scientist’s paper trail, his funds, his taxes, all of it
matched, a bit too well to quench Jared’s suspicions. There were contacts
there, money trails, private detectives hired for secret projects. But that
didn’t have to mean anything. Part of Jared wondered if it was his pride that
wanted the man to be guilty. Just to be the one that discovered the Brain’s
real identity. To stop him.
Morgan was single, and his most long term relationship had been with the slave
he’d bought as a housekeeper fifteen years ago. A beautiful woman for sure, but
one who’d been getting up in age, almost forty, just a few years younger than
Morgan himself. She’d died a year ago, pneumonia, treatable, but most hospitals
didn’t accept slaves, and slave clinics were notorious for their lack of
concern of hygiene or comfort. More slaves died in that place than they did
when left at home.
The more Jared found out about the man, the more his suspicions grew and the
less he wanted to be right. Morgan had been one of those rare men that had his
slave buried, rather than have her body picked up to be incinerated with the
trash. It was almost too easy to link to the man’s internal security. His
cameras were practically begging to be hacked. Often the man would sit there,
staring at his fireplace, his shoulders hunched down, staring at the picture of
the slave that he’d taken off the fireplace.
Sometimes his new slave would come up to bring him food or coffee, and rather
than just send him off, Morgan would tell his boy to sit with him, take some
tea while Morgan had his coffee, tell the guy to eat. And that sad look would
fade from Morgan’s eyes as he granted the young slave a smile instead.
The marked young man would seem surprised at his Master’s kindness, freeze in
place, and Morgan would pet his boy’s hair and look off in the distance while
the slave pulled himself together and relaxed at his owner’s feet.
Jared didn’t want to be right, he wanted Morgan to be innocent.
And yet…
[_photo_02_divider-je_zps60aaa00d.png]
One hit with the whip for each of his offenses, one for each second that he’d
hesitated, one for every “no”, one for every “please stop,” and another one for
his tears, because a slave should know better than to try and manipulate his
owner. Jensen did know better, he did, he wasn’t a baby, he was already eight,
it had just hurt so much that he hadn’t been able to stop himself.
There had never been a moment in his life that Jensen hadn’t been aware he was
a slave. Well, maybe when he was a baby, and a woman he barely remembered would
hold him to her breast and sing to him to keep him from crying; back when warm
hands would hold him in the dark and he’d suckle from a bottle given to him by
the nursemaids at the nursery.
He was three when a man came by the auction house. Jensen wasn’t supposed to be
in the visitor’s room at the time, but he’d lost a tooth earlier that day and
the nurse had to take a look at it. He’d been keeping himself out of the way,
playing with a paper doll that one of the older slaves had given him. Master
Kane wanted a companion for his son, a slave that his son could play games with
when his friends couldn’t come over. He wanted something pretty, something
quiet that wouldn’t cause trouble but that would teach the boy to socialize and
responsibility in having to take care of a pet.
Jensen was curious, looking out from behind the table he was sitting under, his
face peeking from in between its legs, when the buyer looked around at the
merchandise. Older boys who were already trained to take cock, and who could
serve both as a child’s playmate and an adult’s toy. Jensen wasn’t really up
for sale that day, but when the man saw him, he was instantly interested.
Jensen was scared but followed when called, crawling out from under the table
and kneeling on wobbly legs, trying to be like the big boys.
The man picked him up and put him on a chair, making him turn around and sing a
song. Jensen had almost fallen over when he did the movements as he’d been
taught, but that just made the buyer laugh even more. The overseer patted
Jensen on the head before removing the auction house’s collar and replacing it
with a personalized tag. He whispered at Jensen to make them proud before
shooing the toddler towards his new owner.
The man put Jensen in a crate in the back of the car, and Jensen clung on to
his doll, so glad they hadn’t made him leave it behind. His heart throbbed
behind his chest and didn’t calm down until he looked up and saw the sun. He
crawled up to the back of the crate and gazed through the bars, staring up at a
world he’d never seen. There were birds in the sky, he didn’t known what they
were at the time, just that they flew above it all and that there was nothing
holding them back. He was in awe of how big the world really was as they passed
houses and roads, billboards with strange drawings on them and people, so many
people, most of them unmarked. And even the other slaves amongst them seemed to
have a purpose as they worked, followed their owners, and were out in the open.
It was like his world went from black and white to one full of colors and
Jensen gaped at it all in wonder. By the time they arrived he’d sat back down,
his legs in front of him, staring up, up all up, his little hand shielding him
from the sun. And then the shadow of his new owner appeared before him and
Jensen let himself go lax so the man could easily pull him out of the crate.
The Master put a ribbon around Jensen’s neck before putting him in another box,
a cardboard box this time. There wasn’t much air in the box and Jensen almost
dozed off, finding it difficult to breathe until the box finally opened and a
happy face with green eyes gawked down on him.
“Awesome,” the boy said, touching Jensen’s hair as if he could hardly believe
what he was seeing.
Jensen smiled back, and that sealed it. Jensen belonged to young Master Chris
and at that point, he believed he always would.
He would run after his young Master, smile at his jokes, play catch and hide
and seek. Bring him what he needed and sit still and out of the way while his
Master played video games. He’d go get snacks while Master Chris watched his
shows and accept the spinach and Brussels sprouts that his owner sneaked from
his plate down to Jensen who was sitting at his feet.
For five years they played together, they practiced songs together, and all
through it, Jensen trusted that his young Master cared as much about Jensen as
Jensen did about Chris. But Chris had a life, he was a few years older than
Jensen, and he had to go to school. He had to make friends, real friends, that
wanted him to come play at their homes.
Jensen understood, he did. He was property, to do with as his Master pleased.
Whether that meant losing to Chris, even in easy games so his young Master
wouldn’t be upset, or staying out of the way when he had his friends over. Not
that Master Chris made him do that often. Most of the time it was Master Chris
that made him stay, even when the Master’s friends made jokes at his Master’s
expense.
“It’s one thing to have a little brother around when you can’t help it. But
Chris, it’s not like you have to keep your toy busy. Just send him off to the
kitchen and be rid of him.”
“Jensen stays,” was all Chris would say, and that was that. It cost the young
Master some friends. But Master Chris never seemed to mind. He said that people
that had a problem with Jensen hanging out with them weren’t worth keeping
around to begin with.
“I always did want a little brother,” Chris confided to him when the other boys
had left. Jensen never repeated it. Good slaves didn’t betray their owners’
secrets. “I just didn’t expect my father to buy me one.” Jensen always wondered
whom his Master was talking about.
And then it all ended.
Jensen was about eight when it all went sour. He should have expected it, but
it was still a shock when it happened. Jensen was cleaning up his young
Master’s room and taking a quick sneak at his Master’s practice sheets before
moving them to the trash downstairs. It was a risky thing to do, since he
hadn’t been ordered to do so, and he was just a stupid slave, but he wasn’t
able to stem his curiosity.
Slaves weren’t taught how to read or write. They had other things to learn. How
to obey, how to act towards their superiors. Cooking, cleaning, and in Jensen’s
case, how to serve an owner sexually. Most of Jensen’s training was in the
hands of the older slaves of the house. The ones that had long since earned
their position and made sure that Jensen was disciplined when he got too loud,
too rowdy, too curious. Saving their owner from having to waste his time with
crap that didn’t concern him. With any other Master, that would have been it
for Jensen as well. But young Master Chris had always wanted Jensen to help him
with his letters as they played, and Jensen had somehow always managed them
faster than Master Chris did. Not that either would admit to that out loud.
Master Chris wouldn’t mind, Jensen was sure of that, but Master Kane would not
look kindly upon Jensen thinking he was better at anything than a free man.
Even if that free man was a little boy, barely a few years older than Jensen
himself, who kept having trouble in calculus.
If baffled Jensen. Numbers came so easy to him. They made sense, like music
did. Jensen could calculate most number trains in seconds, knew proofs like the
back of his hand and played with roots and squares like they were a part of
him. It didn’t take long before Jensen started explaining them to Chris. Chris
never quite understood, he just grinned and said that Jensen, a mere slave, was
too smart for him.
Curiosity had always been Jensen’s greatest shortcoming. Whether it was reading
the ingredients on the packages in the kitchen, or reading his young Master’s
schoolbooks when he was supposed to be sleeping, doing his chores or memorizing
his mantras. But his worst habit was theft. He hadn’t thought it was anything
bad. Chris would often crunch up his papers and throw them away, taking new
task cards when he’d made the tiniest mistake, doing them over on a new sheet.
So what harm could it do if Jensen would take them out and try out sums and
letters while Chris was gone? What harm could there be in fixing up Master
Chris’ Lego constructions while the young Master was at school. Chris would
only give up on them after a while if he didn’t, and then that’d just be
another toy never played with again.
Being one of Chris’ toys himself, Jensen couldn’t help but feel sorry for the
unused toys, lying forgotten and lost in the bottom of his Master’s toy box.
Never again to see the light of day until it was time to throw them out.
Chris would come home to find his sets fixed, and then he’d turn to Jensen and
share that smile that was only between the two of them, showing a “thank you”
that Chris would never say out loud in public, not as long as there was the
risk of his dad listening in.
That day Jensen had finished most of his chores early. He’d helped clean up the
kitchen, separated the darks, whites and colors in the laundry and he’d even
spent some time with the gardener pulling out weeds and spreading out the soil.
All he had left to do was clean up young Master Chris’ room. Master Kane wasn’t
supposed to come home for at least another hour and Jensen figured it couldn’t
hurt if he tried out those equations he’d seen in the back of Master Chris’
math book the night before.
When Master Kane came in, he found Jensen hunched over a paper, using one of
Master Chris’ pencils to fill out the final numbers. The Master was furious,
dragged Jensen out by his collar, forcing him down the stairs, slamming him up
against the wall.
Jensen had never taken any of Master Chris’ clean papers, he wouldn’t dare….
But Master Kane still called him a thief, said that if he were so bored while
his young Master was gone, that he might as well take on some extra duties.
That there was no use to a slave messing around with crap that went far over
his head.
Jensen tried not to cry when the Master pushed his cock in Jensen’s throat,
shutting up Jensen’s pleas for forgiveness. It was just so much larger than the
practice dildos the senior slaves had been working him on to prepare him for
duties as he grew older. He didn’t meant to refuse, he really didn’t, but he
nearly choked on the flesh hitting his throat and the tears came against his
bidding.
And then Master Kane forced him over the punishment bench, pulled down his
pants and told him to stay put as he demanded his flogger. Jensen cringed at
the sight, which only earned him a few more swaps.
Master Kane said that Master Chris had spoiled him, that Jensen needed to learn
his place, that he was nothing but a cheap piece of flesh, only as worthwhile
as the use he had to his owner. And with every hit of the flogger he’d made
Jensen thank him for his punishment. Jensen wanted to be good, but part of him
kept fighting the notion that he deserved to be punished for what he’d done. It
was stupid, it was wrong, it was everything a slave shouldn’t be, so Jensen
pushed it down and praised his owner’s kindness instead.
And when Master Kane decided to use his ass next, Jensen plastered on a smile
and offered to prepare himself for his Master’s pleasure first. He was
genuinely grateful for the lube, but it still hurt. And he wasn’t able to hold
back the tears when they forced their way out.
Afterwards Master Kane dropped Jensen off at the kitchen, petting his hair and
telling him that he could be such a good boy, that it wasn’t his fault Chris
had gone too soft on him. But that would change now. That it was time he earned
his keep. The kitchen slaves kept a neutral face when they saw Jensen, but
Maria, the head of the kitchen, instantly rushed for bandages and ointment as
soon as the Master left them alone.
When Maria cleaned him up, Jensen tried to ignore the stings on his back and
ass, he tried to ignore the burn in his bum and fought back the tears. She
hugged him and told him he’d done good. That it would get better, that he’d get
used to it. She didn’t cry for him, but she sounded sad. He never asked why, he
didn’t have to.
And then Master Chris arrived home and came looking for Jensen. Jensen would
never forget the look in the older boy’s eyes as he found Jensen curled up on
his new cot in the slave quarters, his place now that he was no longer allowed
to sleep in Master Chris’ room.
Master Chris was even more pissed off when he found out what his father had
done. Jensen hadn’t meant for the boy to see his back, but he’d had to clean
the wounds. A good slave took care of his owner’s property. Chris stood there,
staring at the red lash marks, and Jensen trembled in fear, falling to his
knees, praying that Master Chris wouldn’t have to punish him as well.
Instead Chris grabbed him in a hug, starting to apologize, for what Jensen
didn’t know. It was Jensen’s fault for being a thief and a sneak and a bad
slave.
And then it got worse. The young Master came home early and found his father
fucking Jensen in the living room. It might not have been as bad if he’d stayed
quiet, but instead he went off screaming against Master Kane, threatening to
call the cops, anyone. Master just laughed, said he didn’t understand what
Chris was upset about. Wasn’t he happy that his father had finally found a use
for Jensen, because kids weren’t supposed to hang on to their childhood toys
this long.
Chris glared at the man, yelled that Jensen was just a kid. It made Master fuck
Jensen harder instead. And when Chris was finally allowed to take Jensen to
Maria for care, the Master’s cold rage scared every slave in the house. Jensen
still remembered the man’s words. “You’re an embarrassment. I should have known
better than to think that any spawn of your mother would be worth a damn. But
instead you’re nothing, just a worthless slave sympathizer. Nothing more than
an aboli.” Jensen cringed when Master said the word. Abolis were fools, free
men who thought that slaves deserved rights, and Jensen knew better than that.
How could a thing have rights? It’d be as silly as a chair protesting to its
owner for sitting on it.
Two weeks later he was sold. Master said it was a damn shame, since Jensen had
a gorgeous ass, but Chris had grown too attached to him, and the Master
couldn’t have that. Couldn’t have his son embarrassing him even more than he
already had. He had to do what was best for his son. Get rid of Chris’
attachment to Jensen, send Chris off to a military school to toughen him up.
Maybe then the boy could still be saved.
Chris cried when Master Kane took Jensen to the car, back in the crate that
seemed far smaller now than it had been when Jensen had first been brought to
the house. Jensen stared back at his young owner, but he didn’t fight, just did
what his owner told him to do. Even if it meant giving Master Kane one last
blowjob before the man took him into the auction home.
The Master was kind about it. He didn’t tell the auction people that Jensen was
a thief, or that he was willful or disobedient. He just told them that his son
had outgrown his companion, and if they could show him their selection of fully
trained fucktoys to replace him.
The slave breakers at the auction house took one look at him as Jensen sat
there kneeling, eyes down, desperate to follow his training to the tee. They
mocked his Master as soon as the man was out of earshot, not understanding why
anyone would be stupid enough to exchange a slave that was just getting old
enough to be fucked. They were kind when they realized that Jensen’s Master had
used him already, said that that shouldn’t have happened, since Jensen was too
young for it.
“But who could blame the guy?” another said. “With a slave that hot, it’d be a
shame not to put him to good use right away.”
They all grinned and Jensen tried to pretend he didn’t hear a word they said.
Slaves were supposed to understand orders before they were told, but they
should be deaf to anything that didn’t concern them. Jensen had always had a
problem with that last one.
He was sold a few days later… still mostly untrained for actual duty, his new
owner didn’t care.
By the time Jensen was 24, he’d had eight different owners, five of those had
been before he turned eighteen. None of them ever complained about him, they
all regretted parting with him, but somehow, with the exception of one, he
never seemed to be worth keeping. He couldn’t blame them. Companion slaves were
a dime a dozen, their skills limited to what their owners said they were. It
didn’t matter that Jensen knew how to cook, or that he could keep the house
just as clean as any of the house slaves. It didn’t matter that he was taught
how to drive a car, or could be trusted to do groceries and to keep the garden
well maintained. To his Masters all that mattered was his ass and his lips. And
when you had to get rid of something to balance the budget, luxuries like that
were the first to go. It of course didn’t hurt that Jensen knew exactly how to
hint at owners when time came for him to leave, even if they always thought it
was their own idea. Because manipulation might make him a bad slave, but it was
the only thing he had to keep him alive.
That was one thing he hadn’t needed to learn from Master Jolly.
***** Chapter 4 *****
 [ photo 02_divider-je_zps60aaa00d.png]
When Jeff Morgan bought Jensen, Jensen didn’t really expect anything different.
Just another Master whose hands would be roaming over his body, another ton of
flesh to lie on top of him, making it hard to breathe, another cock to get used
to, another set of commands to learn. Master Morgan loomed over him, even
though Jensen had grown quite tall himself in the past few years. The free man
had a booming voice that sent shivers down his spine. Jensen knew better than
to speak above what was expected of him, and yet his new Master kept trying to
get him to talk. Asking him questions that demanded answers that were more than
just yes or no. At every new question, Jensen fell deeper into fear that
whatever he said was the wrong answer, even if they were simple questions like
his favorite team, or what music he liked (none and Led Zeppelin respectively).
Master Morgan baffled him. Most owners would have tried him out at least once,
even before they got home. And the ones that didn’t would have put him in the
back of the car according to proper slave transport. But not Master Morgan.
Instead he’d ordered Jensen to take place beside him in the front of the car,
something that never happened unless he was driving the car, and drove them
straight to the mall.
Well that part wasn’t too weird. A companion slave’s appearance reflected upon
his owner, and the auction clothes Jensen was wearing were a bit basic, so
Jensen wasn’t too shocked to be taken straight to a slave store. What did shock
him was that his owner allowed him the choice of clothes to buy. Jensen stood
there, trembling, worried that his owner was testing him, to see if he
understood his place or not. He was about to beg the man to make the choice for
him.
The problem was that it was hard to decide what one owner would find
appropriate, compared to another. Morgan might not seem like the type that
would prefer his slaves half naked, but then, it wouldn’t be the first time for
Jensen to find himself mistaken on that one.
A store clerk took mercy on him and helped Jensen build up a basic wardrobe.
Jeans and t-shirts for basic housework and some more… revealing stuff for other
purposes. After finding a couple of both, Jensen set his choices in front of
his owner, allowing the free man final choice, praying that he hadn’t messed up
too much, and that his owner wouldn’t choose to take advantage of the store’s
flogging area to discipline Jensen for abusing his owner’s kindness.
But instead his new owner took all the stuff Jensen had picked and had them
brought to the counter before taking Jensen to the collar section. Once there,
Master Morgan actually asked Jensen which kind of collar he would find most
comfortable. Jensen stood there, his mouth wide open, before admitting that he
preferred a leather collar over a metallic one. He halfway expected the free
man to instantly go for the metal collars, or one of those ghastly plastic
ones, unable to lie to a direct question even then. But instead Master Morgan
made him try out several of the prettier leather collars before finally
deciding on two classic collars, one black and one blue.
Yet when it came to discipline tools, all the man bought was a basic paddle.
Almost more like an afterthought than an actual necessity, and only after the
store clerk had mentioned their disciplinary tool section a few times. As if
his Master was more trying to shut the man up than buy something he needed. For
a moment Jensen wondered if he’d ever woken up from the beating his last owner
had given him before dropping him off at the auction house.
They’d told him he’d barely survived. The doctor that checked him out was
surprised to find him still alive the next day. If Jensen had healed any
faster, they might even have thought he had superpowers and he would have been
in worse trouble than he already was.
His new owner hadn’t hit Jensen once. Not even to put him in his place. It made
Jensen wonder if Master Morgan was one of those men that would like to get a
slave’s hopes up, to then crush them into the ground later on. Then again, his
Master might have bought a disciplinary set at a specialty store before, maybe
even for a previous slave, and didn’t see the need to waste his money on more
basic tools like this store provided. It made Jensen wonder when the second
shoe was going to drop. Months later, it still hadn’t.
At best he’d expected a cot in his Master’s room, or even a cage in the
basement in case his owner didn’t want to look at his face too often. Instead
he was given a room of his own, with an actual bed.
He was given a closet to put his new clothes in, and instructions on what food
to prepare in the fully stocked kitchen. He was told to keep the house clean
and given instructions to stay out of his owner’s lab.
After that, it was as if his Master didn’t know what to do with a slave. Jensen
was given permission to watch television when his chores were done, and the
Master said he approved of Jensen’s cooking, and yet… he still didn’t make full
use of Jensen. Jensen tried to be a good slave, he did his chores, he sat down
with his Master in the evening when asked. It was easier to seem interested in
his new Master’s stories than it had been with his previous ones.
Master Morgan didn’t expect him to understand what he was talking about, and
Jensen never informed him otherwise. But no matter what he wore, or how
appreciative he tried to seem, his Master wouldn’t touch him.
It wasn’t even like Jensen wanted his Master to fuck him, far from it. But he’d
feel more secure about his place in the household if Master Morgan had done so.
At least then he’d know what he was bought for. If he was meant to be a house
slave, then good, Jensen would love that. But for some reason his new Master
never even fired his cleaning service, making Jensen wonder if his work wasn’t
good enough. Not that he’d ask his owner about that.
The only thing he truly seemed to want from Jensen was his opinion, so Jensen
did his best to answer and pay attention. Anything to be able to respond when
Master Morgan asked Jensen what he thought about the world series. No idea.
About aboli attacks on the slave compounds on Wilkins Boulevard. Horrifying,
stolen slaves never went anywhere good.
His ideas on Canada and their emancipation laws, and the US response to them.
The notion that now every Canadian citizen who crossed the border had to be
considered a slave. After all, how could they prove otherwise? And worst of
all, the Canadians didn’t seem to care. It felt like insanity.
And then there were raids on the Lower Borrows where the cops thought the Brain
and his gang had been hiding. The attacks, robberies, thefts … all of which
were too violent to have been the Brain’s, but Jensen didn’t dare give his
opinion that far.
The night Alex and Charlie Carver, sons of one of the city’s foremost industry
leaders, were found, marked as slaves, Jensen sat there, watching the TV
screen, terrified of what this would mean for every other slave in the city.
Because even the richest man in the city couldn’t save his sons from going on
auction.
No one marked as a slave would ever go free again, no matter how high they were
born.
And for the first time in his life Jensen truly hated another living being,
knowing what those children would be going through. Because no matter what
their father would do to try and get them back, their lives were over.
In his mind Jensen would save them, in his dreams he’d go after the ones that
had taken them. But those were wisps of never were, all too easily forgotten in
the light of day.
It was all too easy to adapt to his new Master’s life, slipping in between
being the perfect pet for his Master’s attention, and the proper servant who
led guests to his Master’s office or lab, cooked dinner and kept his owner’s
books where they belonged.
And if he sneaked in the occasional reading time when his Master wasn’t paying
attention, who could blame him? It wasn’t like he had anything else to do. He
thought he’d been sneaky, thought he’d gotten one past his owner. He should
have known better.
Master Morgan saw right through him. Only he wasn’t angry. He seemed almost
proud.
Jensen stood there, waiting to be punished, but instead Master Morgan gave him
free run of his personal library. He even told him that he could look online to
see if he found any other books he wanted to read. Jensen had been too stunned
to respond. It was a luxury that Jensen had only experienced once before in his
life, and one he would dread to lose once again.
And still the Master didn’t order him to his bed, still he’d refuse a blow job,
laughing it off and telling Jensen to get up from his knees. It was impossible
to understand, pushing his fear until finally he showed up naked at the foot of
his Master’s bed, begging his owner to tell him why he wouldn’t just use him.
Master Morgan had looked practically affronted, disgusted even. Jensen didn’t
understand why. Sure the man could be straight, but what did that matter when
dealing with a slave? A hole was a hole and Jensen knew he had a fine one.
Master Morgan covered him in a blanket and pulled him close, just holding him,
telling Jensen how perfect he was. That there was nothing wrong with him. That
there was nothing Jensen could do to displease him. And Jensen felt the tears
dripping down his face, unable to stop, thinking that now … now he’d finally
gone too far. But instead Master Morgan just encouraged him to let them fall,
let go of it all. That it was fine to feel. “There there son, there’s nothing
wrong with being human.”
But he wasn’t… human. He was a slave. In the end Morgan broke him deeper and
further than any other Master ever had.
Deep enough that he had to rebel, had to go back to what he was inside. Because
if he didn’t there would be nothing left of him that he could recognize.
So when his Master sent him out for groceries, he stayed out longer than
planned, took a detour, just to see what his Master would say. His Master just
asked him if he’d had a nice trip, wanted him to tell him all about it. And
Jensen ended up telling him about the stars and how they’d looked in the sky as
Jensen had laid back on the hood of the car, naming them one by one.
And then Master Morgan had a beer, a smile on his face as Jensen sipped his
tea. Jensen almost felt guilty when he finally made his first real move. It
shouldn’t matter, guilt was for free men, and yet… Master Morgan never even
realized his car had been altered. Why would he? Jensen had always been good at
being sneaky.
[_photo_02_divider-j_zps2102f953.png]
That was a terrible month for Jared. A month of constant attacks, having to
stand there and say platitudes as he dealt with victims of horrendous crimes,
all because of a new gang that tried to make its name known. The Ravagers
didn’t care too much about money, they didn’t care about wealth, all they cared
about was creating chaos, rampaging through the streets causing millions in
damage, and for what? To cause suffering? To spread fear all over, make people
terrified to go out. And if they happened to get away with entire vaults filled
with gold and ship loads of slaves, then so be it.
There were only five of them with super powers, but a lot more without, all of
them serving one unknown Master. General assumption was that their leader was
the Brain. But no one knew for certain. High tech crimes, daring thefts, and no
one ever knew just what they were after.
Jared wasn’t convinced. The crimes lacked the sophistication they’d come to
expect from the Brain. They lacked that sense of humor, that degree of subtlety
that kept the man out of sight, out of mind, until his next crime.
The entire Squad was mobilized. Most of the children in training were sent
home. It was too dangerous for them to stay. The building felt empty with less
than half a dozen of them moving through the hallways. The ones that had
nowhere to head home to.
Jared would do his part of patrols, work with the police, do whatever the squad
leader asked him to. Then when he was already tired, and should really sink
down on his couch and entertain himself, he’d head over to the empty house that
he’d been using as a hide out on Morgan’s street, sit there, and watch the
recordings.
It took Jared three months of careful observation before he found something.
And even then it was nothing that would hold up in court. Just a visit from a
delivery man he recognized as a member of the Ravagers.
But for all Jared knew, Plastic was just scouting the place, finding a way to
rob the place. Or God forbid, acting in some level of secret identity. They
didn’t know that much about the shape shifter.
Morgan sure didn’t act like he knew the guy, barely even paid him attention
while his slave opened the door and accepted the delivery.
Maybe It was because Jared was getting tired. He’d never done this kind of long
term observation. But it was starting to be like watching a reality show, with
only two regular characters. And to his own regret he was growing fond of the
two. It was the only thing that Jared could blame for the fact that he was
starting to hope that Morgan wasn’t guilty.
Morgan was strict, law obeying, with the occasional funds invested in slave
rights causes that Jared himself supported as well. He seemed like a good owner
to his slave, a young man who always appeared well fed, well dressed and though
respectful, never looked like he was terrified of his owner.
There was a hint of something familiar about the slave, but Jared couldn’t
figure out what it was. He shrugged it off. The man probably reminded him of
Adrian, the only slave he’d had any long-term acquaintance with.
Morgan was a busy man. Even when he wasn’t at work, he was often locked away in
his own home lab, a place he kept private even from his slave. There was no
view in the lab from outside, no way to have even a hint of what was going on.
Jared had even tried to gain entry, pretending to be a delivery man, but he was
stopped at the door and Morgan came out to sign his package rather than
allowing him inside. There was something distinctly private about Morgan, the
way he interacted with people and had few friends. Even his slave was sent off
on errands almost as often as he was at home.
The boy didn’t seem to mind. Jared couldn’t blame him with an owner like that.
Slaves needed social interaction just as much as free men did. Even if that
interaction came from talking to shop owners or requesting services on his
owner’s behalf. Jared had followed him a few times, while Morgan was late at
work. Most of the trips were dutiful, with the slave behaving according to
proper customs, bestowing no shame upon his owner through either attitude or
actions. Back and forth as expected and just like a slave should. Except… there
were a few additional trips out to the middle of nowhere, little side trips
that at first had Jared wondering if Morgan was using the slave for other
purposes as well.
But then he found the slave sitting on the back of the car, staring at the
stars. Merely a few minutes of doing nothing, but just being, just existing and
marveling at the sky.
Jared wondered how often in his life the slave had had the opportunity to do
that, to just enjoy the world. So he didn’t add it to the log. Slaves had so
few things to enjoy in life as it was, who was Jared to take away the boy’s
little pleasures. If Morgan was using him for anything criminal, Jared couldn’t
spot it.
He’d managed to talk to the slave, once or twice while he was out in the open,
Jared dressed as a civilian. Nothing big, the kind of thing you said to another
man’s slave out in public. Asking directions in a store they were both at.
Talking about the meat while they were both waiting in line.
The young slave had stood there each time, shocked to be spoken too, but had
answered diligently, his head bowed and focused on the list his owner had given
him before handing it over to the clerk. Counting out the money, as not to
waste time.
People around him would push the young slave aside, cut in front of him in the
line, as if he weren’t even there. And Morgan’s slave wouldn’t even protest,
just get out of the way. As if it were normal. No one came to help him when he
took his purchases to the car that was parked in the back of the lot. There
were no laws about it, but everyone knew that slaves weren’t allowed to take
spaces closer to the store, even if the lot was half empty. More customers
could arrive, and you couldn’t ask a free man to walk all the way across the
parking lot if they didn’t have to.
The slave didn’t break any traffic laws. He probably drove better than most
free men. Technically slaves caught in criminal acts weren’t responsible for
their actions. Just like you didn’t hold a dog responsible for causing an
accident, you wouldn’t judge a slave for stealing or running in traffic. After
all, if they were able to look after themselves, then they wouldn’t be slaves,
now would they. But most cops saw no issue in disciplining a slave when caught
misbehaving, and then demand an owner to either keep a better eye on his
property, or keep the slave in the house where they couldn’t cause trouble.
And considering the fines given to the owners, they usually made damn sure the
slave didn’t commit the same error twice.
After three months of constant vigilance, it was getting harder to retain
focus. Jared was starting to wonder about the purpose of it all. He was unsure
if he’d been wrong, if he’d been looking for something that wasn’t there. That
maybe Morgan was just a reclusive scientist and nothing more. But then he
spotted Misha, the Avenging Angel, circling above Jared’s own look out post.
The hero looked ominous in the sky, like a huge bird of prey if you didn’t know
who it was that was circling down. Jared admired the man. Even when he was a
young teenager barely out of his sidekick digs, acting out against all the
people he’d looked up to as a child, Misha had been different. As a man, the
blue eyed hero was all Jared wished he himself could be. No matter how clumsy
and silly his own attempts at heroism were.
Jared took a deep breath and pressed his com unit.
“Angel?”
“Ja… Thunder, I’m kind of busy.”
“I noticed.” He waved for a moment, waiting for the other hero to join him.
“Jared, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Keeping an eye on Morgan?” he tried.
“Keeping an eye on.… Who sent you here, you’re not….”Misha seemed startled as
if Jared had actually managed to surprise him.
“Nobody sent me. I was following up on a lead, I thought that maybe Morgan was…
well I think he’s….”
“The Brain?”
Jared blushed in embarrassment.
“And you didn’t tell the rest of us?”
“I didn’t really have reliable evidence. I figured, I’d check him out, stay on
the lookout, see if I could find any proof before bringing it to the Squad.”
“And you didn’t tell me because of what?” Misha seemed almost disappointed that
Jared hadn’t trusted him enough to come to him. It was just….it was Misha, the
one person in the Squad who meant the most to him. And the one person that
Jared least wanted to look at him as some little kid trying to play at being a
grown up. But he couldn’t tell Misha that.
“Bourne still won’t take me serious,” Jared answered quietly. “To him, I’m
still just that little brat that tried to sneak along playing at being a grown
up. I know you’d listen, but… I had to be sure this was real first. I wanted to
be sure I had something solid. That I wouldn’t be wasting anyone’s time with
suspicions I couldn’t back up.”
“And you’ve been here….”
“Most of my free time for the past few months.” Jared looked away. “I set up
cameras to keep filming when I’m not here.” He tried to defend himself, tried
to be professional. To be the kind of hero that Misha could respect, even if
Jared knew the man would always see him as that little boy he’d taken under his
wings.
“Show me.” Jared led Misha to the front room of the house he’d rented, and
showed the older hero his set up. The holoscreen was currently focusing on
Morgan’s slave in the kitchen, preparing a sandwich. Misha stood still, looking
at the slave. Eying him. Jared knew that Misha liked to evaluate potential
threats, so he tried not to interrupt him.
“How many slaves does he own?” Misha finally asked as he went through the
surveillance of the other rooms.
“As far as I can see, just the one. Morgan doesn’t spend much time outside of
his lab, and there’s a cleaning service once a week, so there isn’t much work
to do for even the one he does have.”
Misha crossed his arms, his eyes focused scarily on the slave. Jared had to
stop himself jumping to the slave’s defense.
“What made you suspect Morgan?”
Jared was surprised to be asked, a bit stunned as well. It was odd how even
though Misha was now shorter than him, Jared still felt like he had to look up
to the man.
“I checked up on a bank robbery. There was a car in the immediate vicinity of
the bank. It seemed out of place, and I couldn’t track down the owner so I
followed it on satellite and tracked it down to Morgan’s place.” Jared hated to
admit it, but really he’d been desperate to find anything that even remotely
looked like a clue. The Brain had been a threat to society for almost ten years
now, and no one even had a clue what he looked like.
It wasn’t uncommon for supervillains to show back up again like the bad pennies
they were. They tended to be too powerful to be sentenced to slavery and most
prisons couldn’t seem to handle holding them for any real duration. Jared hated
to admit it, but there were plenty of ‘villains’ that he was happy to see
considered as too dangerous for slavery. He would hate to see a spitfire like
Gen given the mark.
Gen had been his ‘bad guy’, almost since Jared first got his chance to go out
as Tank’s sidekick. A cat burglar and thief with quite a reputation behind her,
she was also for the most part harmless. She’d even served as his informant
whenever she heard that someone was up to something too dangerous to be allowed
to continue.
He also knew she was involved with the abolis, but that was the kind of crime
he didn’t really mind closing his eyes to. Jared hated it when their team was
asked to crack down an aboli meet. Most of them were good people, even if they
were a bit naïve. It’s just a pity that more than one criminal had chosen to
use their willingness to help, to dive underground, when they came too close to
getting marked.
Misha checked through the logs that Jared had carefully written down, all
without saying another word to Jared. Jared hoped he hadn’t screwed up too
much.
Then he turned to Jared, saying the one thing he least expected. “Good job,
Jared.“
Jared couldn’t stop a smile. “You should have told us sooner, but I can’t blame
you for wanting to have some proof first.“
“Thanks.”
“I’m proud of you, Jared. A lot of the youngsters your age would have gone
after Morgan without thinking. You actually bothered to check things out before
doing so.”
A blush spread across Jared’s face.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, being stuck here as you’ve been, but we managed
to catch one of the Brain’s mechs last week. Some of the parts used in it came
from the firm Morgan’s working for. He’s one of the only ones that has both the
intelligence to be the Brain, and the access to the tech.”
“So it could be him?” Jared was shocked by how surprised he was. He shouldn’t
be, he’d suspected Morgan before the others. And yet part of him still felt
there was something wrong.
Misha luckily ignored his sense of shock. “We think so. I was planning to check
things out first, before the others come in.“
Jared moved to the window, looking out at Morgan’s slave who was putting
something in the oven.
“I saw Morgan head into his lab a few hours ago, haven’t seen him come out
yet,” Jared quickly said. “Unless he has a way out of there….”
Misha looked grave. “If he isn’t here now, we’ll just have to wait him out. Are
you in for it, Jared?”
Did he even have to ask?
[_photo_02_divider-je_zps60aaa00d.png]
Jensen often lived in his mind, ignoring the world around him as he preformed
simple tasks and built worlds of his own making with the building stones of his
imagination. It kept him from getting bored as he did the dishes, or tried out
chemical experiments in cooking. Master Morgan never called him on his attempts
at making something new. Jensen wondered if his owner even knew the difference
between Jensen’s own creation, old recipes he’d learned over the years or those
he’d read in one of Master Morgan’s cookbooks.
Jensen hadn’t heard anything coming from Master Morgan’s lab for hours. He’d
done his chores, separated the laundry, took the dogs out for a walk, brought
food to the Master’s door and left it on the ledge. And after he was sure that
the dishes were done and his Master was still occupied, he’d gone off to the
living room and messed with some circuit boards that his owner had thrown out a
few days ago. They were basic, simple. Well to Jensen they were. But he’d
managed to speed up their processing and was already trying to think of how
they could be put to use. He was sure the television could receive a few more
channels if he replaced a circuit or two.
The door burst open. He jumped up from the couch, part of him feeling
frightened to be found sitting around like this, part of him startled and
dropped the circuits. Jensen turned around, ready to face the intruders when he
recognized the hero that had kicked the door out of its frame. For a moment he
was annoyed that they hadn’t bothered to knock, then a millisecond later he
froze, unable to process. He just stared as hero after hero burst through the
door.
How, why? Two thoughts that kept going through his mind as he backed off one
step, two… hitting the coffee table, before he went to his knees. His back bent
over, as low to the floor as possible, hands on his back, head leant against
the floor.
He expected them to take him down regardless, to be put down, but instead he
was ignored as the heroes swarmed all over the house, moving to Master Morgan’s
lab. Jensen sat stunned, the TV still playing in the background, some cooking
show he’d been ignoring. His heart was drumming in his chest, his fear massive.
He’d seen slaves killed for less. He started shaking when one of the heroes
came up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Any moment now he would die. He
closed his eye, begging on the inside, not yet, please, not yet.
He knew that death would be the only thing that could ever bring him freedom.
Or so the priests said. Jensen had always had a hard time with blind faith.
“Hey, it’s alright, no one’s out to hurt you, I promise,” the hero said.
Jensen didn’t dare lift his head to check for the truth. The voice sounded
familiar …
“Thunder!”
“You want information, don’t you?” The hero, Thunder, sounded almost
exasperated before he turned back to Jensen.
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Jensen, ser. AC-LS79564.” He spat out the numbers like the second nature it
was, more his name than the calling name his owners allowed him.
The hero, he sounded young, younger than Jensen at least. Then again, at times
Jensen felt he was ages old. He lifted Jensen’s head for a moment, his eyes
seemed familiar, Jensen wasn’t sure, he didn’t dare look free men in the eye
when he was in public.
“Didn’t…”
Suddenly Jensen felt himself lifted from the ground, held by the neck, his feet
dangling in the air. “It’s the same fucking slave.” Jensen recognized the
voice, the costume. The Blue Yonder.
Was the jig up?
Would they finally realize the truth? Would they at least respect him when they
killed him, just this once? It would almost make it worth it. No matter how
much he still clung to those last strings of life.
“So Morgan is the Brain, but why the fuck would he make the effort to get his
old slave back? No one is that attached to a fucktoy.”
Morgan, as in Master Morgan?
Jensen stared at him in shock. Why would they think something like that? Was it
really that hard to figure out the truth?
But then he guessed that the idea of being outsmarted by a mere slave would
never even enter their mind. Why would it, slaves were just things to them.
They’d probably find it humiliating if they ever did realize the truth.
He just wished he could tell them who he was before he died, even if only to
see the realization build up in their eyes, that horrible moment where just
once they had to accept the truth, that they’d respected a slave and had never
realized the difference. It would be the one victory they could never take away
from him. No matter how much they’d try to deny it later on. Long after he’d be
gone, part of them would forever be haunted by the shame of having feared a
slave.
And for a moment Jensen imagined that world where they’d know, where his secret
was out in the open and even though his corpse would long since have been
turned to dust, the memory of his deeds would linger forever.
Then he flinched back to reality as the Blue Yonder’s hold on his neck made him
snap up in pain.
The Jolly Roger always did say he thought too much, and that he was too much of
a brain to think about what was good for him.
***** Chapter 5 *****
[_photo_02_divider-je_zps60aaa00d.png]
When the heroes left the house, the neighbors stood there gawking as Jensen was
dragged along up on the Freedom Squad’s plane. Jensen couldn’t help but roll
his eyes at the anti gravity technology they used. It did its job well enough,
allowing them a lift up from the middle of the street. But he couldn’t help but
wonder who had created it, because they forgot to account for the pressure
caused to the surface beneath it.
He was sure that Master Morgan wouldn’t appreciate the cracks in his driveway
and the wider road. Nor would Master Morgan’s next door neighbor appreciate
having her begonia’s leveled into the dust. Jensen knew he most definitely
wouldn’t enjoy the way she’d glare at him when or if he was ever allowed to
return to his Master’s home.
The Squad members took their seats as Jensen’s collar was locked to a synthetic
ring in the back. It was too high for him to sit comfortably underneath it, but
not high enough for him to be able to stand up. Not that he had much of a
sight, just the heroes ribbing one another over the bad guy getting away.
Jensen for once had no idea what the hell they were talking about. Sure, he
didn’t know everything about Master Morgan, but he’d put his life on the man’s
innocence. And it was hard for Morgan to be the Brain, especially as long as
Jensen himself was still around.
For a moment Jensen wondered if Master Morgan was the leader of the Ravagers,
but if he were… well he’d be able to afford much better coffee than the crap he
always asked Jensen to buy for him.
Jensen gazed through the windows at the other side of the cabin. He leaned
over, pulling on his chain to get a good look as they approached Freedom Tower.
It was an eyesore that gloomed over the metropolis of Maxitron, serving as
headquarters of the Freedom Squad and housing three floors of offices belonging
to the Bureau of Superhuman Affairs. The building’s threatening shadow loomed
over any and all who stood against it while claiming to be an inspiration to
the population. It was the center of super activity in the entire western US.
They had maybe five minutes before they landed. If he wanted to, he could take
over the jet, fly it somewhere else, maybe even throw out the Squad and take
them out before they took him in. He could avoid the Security measures inside
the building and get out once and for all. He wouldn’t even have to kill
anyone.
Jensen hated that building as he hadn’t hated any other place in the world.
This wasn’t his first visit to Freedom Tower. Nor was it his second. The last
time he’d been inside, he’d disguised himself as a cleaner owned by one of the
biggest cleaning firms in the country. Not a single one of them had given him a
second look, not the guards, not the heroes. He’d managed to tour the entire
complex, leaving psytech and weapons all over the place. No one had questioned
him even once as long as he was mopping the floor or going over every flat
surface he came across. Including every single phone, computer screen, and
whatever bits of supposedly high tech equipment he came across. Technically, he
could take down the entire building with a single command. But he already knew
he wouldn’t do that, not unless his life depended on it.
The only thing in the world worse than being a slave was to get written down as
a runaway. Slaves were filth, but they had their use. Runaways though, runaways
were such a threat that the US had risked a war with Canada, ending all
diplomatic contacts with the country’s next door neighbor. Just because they
had declared slave emancipation all across the country. It was a last ditch
effort by the US to keep other countries from following suit. And all because
the US government wanted to be sure that slaves had nowhere to go, nowhere to
hide. Nowhere to be free.
They would hunt him down, paint his image across every television, in every
single state, put up a reward for his capture, and a threat of slavery for
anyone who dared to hide him. So that only the most devoted abolis would dare
stand up for him and give up their own rights to freedom in doing so. Jensen
had his faults, but he could never bring himself to do that to others.
They wouldn’t just kill him. No, that wasn’t enough of a lesson to other slaves
in the country.
They would capture him, and then they would send him to a government facility,
to be used for medical research, tortured, then dissected alive and used in one
of those medical tutorials that free men pretended was done on a dummy, but
slaves knew the truth. There wasn’t an officially mandated trainer that didn’t
make sure of that.
And besides, even if he managed to achieve the impossible, slipped out of
sight, teleported over to Canada and pleaded for citizenship, what would he do?
He didn’t know what to be, if not a slave. Without a Master, what was he?
What would the difference be, between begging them for aid, or just serving a
Master as he did now?
Slaves needed orders, slaves needed guidance and no matter what else he was,
first and foremost, he’d always be a slave.
One of them came up to him and unleashed his collar before forcing him to his
feet, dragging him along with them over the shiny metallic floors and past
floor wide spotless bulletproof windows that gave a full view over half the
city. Jensen was too used to walking on a leash to allow himself to be dragged
over the floor, able to keep his feet underneath him, no matter what. He knelt
down as soon as he was pushed in place, kept his head bowed down while
observing… everything.
The screens on the walls, the surveillance footage, the Squad’s direct link to
the Security Council. He knew from previous experience that the heroes iconic
meeting hall wasn’t nearly as impressive as the Squad’s PR department made it
look like on commercials and news reports. He spotted the speck of dust that
doubled as a camera he’d hidden in the lamp above the table and quickly
connected it to the nanites littered all through his blood stream and
neurosystem in so little as a blink.
When it came down to it, he was a living weapon, a walking talking crime lab.
He’d long since surpassed the need for a physical laboratory. Why bother
risking visits to other locations, when all he had to do was slip into his own
mind to try out any experiment he could possibly wish for and more, without any
risk of either discovery or harming others outside of himself.
Jensen wasn’t a super himself, not by birth at least, but for a slave, powers
were more of a target on your back than a risk worth taking. Jensen had learned
his lesson. Keep yourself small, protect your true self, your heart, your soul
and show the world nothing but what they expected to see, and you could achieve
whatever you wanted to. He was as safe as he ever was and yet… he hated to
admit just how scared he was, hiding his face in between his legs and trying
not to catch anyone’s attention.
He remembered watching the news with Chris, seeing his first Master geek out
over colorfully clad heroes, looking up to them. Putting on a mask and a cape
and playing at being one of them. Truth, justice and the American way. And for
a short while Jensen had dared to believe that people like these meant
something. That maybe there were people who could care to protect those who
couldn’t defend themselves. He’d been naïve, hoping for something to latch
onto, something to believe in. He’d wanted it so much, to think that there was
someone in the world who cared. People that even a slave could beg for
protection.
But then they’d watched a news report, a warehouse filled with slaves. Jensen
had expected the heroes to do something, to get the slaves out. But all they’d
done was get the free people and their pets out before they’d isolated the
fire. There had been slaves behind the window, screaming for help, but the
heroes ignored them, the fire was too dangerous to risk their lives to save
property. Jensen had been seven at the time, and that had been the moment he
realized that there was no such thing as heroes, not for slaves.
“I’ve checked into Morgan’s records.” Jensen snuck a peek, lowering his head
once again before anyone could spot his interest. The Avenging Angel had been
the one to speak. The winged hero was self-righteous, yet smarter than he
seemed. “Did you know that he’s been looking for a particular slave for the
past few years, for this particular slave?”
Jensen’s eyes shot open, he tried to control his body, to stay still, pretend
he couldn’t hear a word they were saying. He didn’t get it, why would Master
Morgan have been looking for him? Had he hidden who he was that badly? And if
he had, why hadn’t his Master said something?
“I could only find records of his searches for the past five, but I’m guessing
he’s been trying to find him for longer.“
Five years? There was only one person that Jensen would count on to come
looking for him, but If Master Morgan worked for the Jolly Roger, why not just
tell him? And if his Master had been working for Master Jolly, would Master
Morgan believe that Jensen could possibly betray his old Master? Master Jolly
would know that Jensen would never do anything to betray his trust, wouldn’t
he?
“So his slave got confiscated,” Bourne said as he looked at images of Morgan,
“and instead of just getting a new one, he specifically wanted this one back.
But why? The boy’s pretty for sure, but it’s not that hard to find another one
that looks just like him.”
That was a truth that Jensen knew all too well. Looks could only get you so
far. The problem was, most owners didn’t care about anything beyond that. Not
with companions like him. It was a rare Master who could look beyond a slave’s
body. Master Jolly had. And once again there was that phrase, “get him back”?
Master Morgan had only owned him for the past few months.
“Maybe the Brain hid something on the slave’s body?” Jensen tried to look even
smaller after the implied, though unintentional threat. Jensen had never
believed that Bourne was a fool. A sociopath maybe, utterly self-righteous and
wound up in the false belief that he stood for all that was right in the world.
He didn’t even care about people knowing his secret identity, because there was
no one outside of the Freedom Squad that he cared about. But Jensen would never
have called him stupid. He knew that once they put him through a scanner,
they’d at the very least find traces of his tech, the only weapon he had left.
Sure, they wouldn’t figure out what they were there for, but having them inside
of him had been like a security blanket, keeping him safe when one of his
owners went a step too far.
Jensen knew his owners owned his body, that if they wanted to kill him, they
legally had the right to do so. But he’d vowed his life and soul to another
Master a long time ago. And as long as Master Jolly didn’t pass him on, he
couldn’t let his Master’s property get destroyed.
He felt goose bumps building up as he realized that Thunder was still staring
at him. The large hero was one of the tallest in the room, looking huge
especially for his youth. Jensen wondered how much the man noticed, how much he
realized. There wasn’t much known about Thunder. His powers were classed level
twenty, energy based, and rumors had it that he could go toe to toe with the
Blue Yonder when it came to power. That if it weren’t for his lack of
experience, he’d probably be one of the most dangerous men in the world.
Thunder had a good reputation amongst slaves. But that didn’t mean much. Heroes
weren’t necessarily cruel, they didn’t have to be to be a threat. You had to
care to be cruel. And often the sheer fact that they didn’t care hurt worse
than anything else in the world.
“What if he knew what the Brain looked like?” Thunder whispered, and Jensen’s
heart started racing in his chest. The room fell silent. Thunder continued
slightly louder, the certainty in his tone climbing with every word. “If he was
the Brain’s bed slave, wouldn’t that suggest that the man was often naked while
using him? Maybe Morgan wanted him back because the slave, Jensen, knew what he
looked like?“
Jensen wasn’t sure what surprised him more, the fact that Thunder actually
considered that a slave had eyes in his head, or that they truly believed that
Master Morgan, of all people, was the Brain.
“Then why keep him around, wouldn’t it be easier to just kill him, if he was
that kind of threat?” Jensen wasn’t sure whom that question came from. He used
the hidden camera and realized it was Psych, who was cleaning his nails while
resting his feet on the Squad’s table.
The worst part was that the idea of anyone recognizing him like that hadn’t
entered Jensen’s mind, and if they did, he’d never think of killing them over
it. Why would he waste a free man’s life when wiping a person’s memories would
work just as well? It’s not like he hadn’t done so with two of his previous
owners when they’d gotten a bit too close to realizing just how often Jensen
left the house.
“Because nobody interrogates a slave,” the Blue Yonder muttered. Jensen hated
the man, even if he was right. “Nobody asked the slave anything eight years
ago, so he figured it was safe to keep him around.”
The Yonder hadn’t wasted any time on questioning him back then, but Jensen had
kept his mouth shut regardless. Why should he get himself in trouble, and for
whom? Anything he said would only harm him. He hated the idea of them thinking
Master Morgan was him, but really, the worst they’d do to his current owner
would be to arrest him. And the moment they figured out they were wrong, they’d
let him go. Jensen wouldn’t get off that easy. The insult was too great.
Not with a guy like this, the Blue Yonder, he’d been a part in putting down the
last big slave rebellion over in Kansas. Rebellion, hah, a bunch of starving
slaves daring to run and steal food as they desperately tried to get away from
their owners.
Their rebellion had lasted a mere twenty-two hours before the cops caught up
with them. They’d been surrounded in an abandoned apartment block, hiding out
amidst a bunch of homeless people. The inhabitants had ratted them out and ran
out as soon as possible. Not that Jensen could blame them. They’d had children
of their own. Telling on a bunch of slaves would get their children fed, and
kept them from falling into slavery themselves.
The cops had treated it all as a military operation, kept any of the slaves
from getting away with blockades and tanks. It didn’t matter that the group
would have gone down under a mere push, they were seen as terrorists. Men,
women, children, it didn’t matter that all they’d had on them was a set of
kitchen knives and some gardening tools. For all that the news reported on it,
it was the biggest threat to liberty and the world economy since the last big
slave revolt.
There had been twenty-eight of them when they started out. By the time the cops
caught up with them, the adults had already slain the children, gently
strangling them in their sleep. The women had gone next. The last slaves
remaining had stood there, facing the cops, their clothes soaked in blood,
knives in their hands. The Blue Yonder hadn’t even left them the honor of dying
before capture.
Instead the three survivors were put on trial. Jensen spat at the idea. Killing
their owners’ property, attacking their owners, running away.… The authorities
had made a big deal out of it, with twenty-four seven reporting for the three
months that it lasted. Every slave in the country had been frozen in fear,
forced to watch it over and over. In the end, they’d all died screaming.
No, Jensen had no respect for the man, because the man would never have any
respect for him.
“Maybe he has more information,” Thunder added. “I mean, the Jolly Roger owned
him for three years, there might be more he could have seen, that no one
bothered to ask him about.”
Jensen fought back a smile, dreading it at the same time. Most free men didn’t
bother to consider what a slave might or might not know. Maybe the ones that
respected Thunder were right. And maybe he really should be scared of the
seemingly harmless giant.
“He’s just….” the Yonder tried to interrupt, seemingly respecting the younger
hero about as much as he would a fly… or a slave.
“He’s a human being for crying out loud.” Jensen cringed as Thunder slammed his
fist on the table. “His legal status doesn’t change the fact that he was living
right next to the Brain’s lab for who knows how long. He has ears, eyes, he
might know things, things that even his owners didn’t realize because like you,
they just figured that he was just a piece of ass. Isn’t it time that we stop
ignoring people just because legally they’re considered subhuman?”
The others seemed shocked, staring at Thunder as if they finally saw him for
the first time ever, some of them not liking what they saw. And yet, Thunder
didn’t seem to care. He should, it was never a good idea to seem too much like
a slave sympathizer. Jensen wanted to tell him to shut up, to warn him, to
thank him, but he bit his lip, keeping his warnings locked inside of him.
“Maybe if you stopped looking at slaves as things, we could have grabbed the
Brain years ago,” Thunder spat out. There was a bit of venom and anger in his
voice, even if he did try to sound calm.
“Thunder…”
“Look, just give him to me. I’ll see if he’ll talk to me, find out what he
knows. Maybe that way, we might find out where Morgan’s gone off to. That’d be
more useful than whatever the hell else you were planning to put him through.”
Jensen wasn’t so sure of that. He had a high pain threshold, but free men, they
had ways to make you regret thinking you knew what they were capable of.
There seemed to be a silent conversation between the members of the group, some
of them seeming hesitant, others… wanting to move on to matters of higher
importance, and the Yonder seemed humiliated that a newbie like Thunder had
dared to speak out against him. Probably about to suggest one of his
interrogations.
And then the Angel nodded. And the mood in the room changed.
“Alright, Thunder. We’ll try it your way first.”
“He might be too scared to talk,” Trigger added. Jensen didn’t know much about
him either, the guy was the quiet sort, deadly. But he’d killed Lafferty’s
twins, gave each the mercy of a bullet through the brain, rather than bring
them in. In a choice between him and the Blue Yonder, Jensen would pick Trigger
in a heartbeat. Super powered slaves were always better off dead than captured.
“It’s not like we’re in a hurry. The slave won’t go on sale for at least
another month. You know the law, Morgan hasn’t been officially accused of
anything yet, and as long as the slave’s ownership isn’t determined he’s under
state custody.” Logical, cold, kind. “Just, Thunder, don’t get too attached to
the boy, not unless you plan to buy him after.“
Jensen wondered where that came from. As if he were the big risk to Thunder’s
feelings. Most free men weren’t stupid enough to get attached to slaves, and
when they did, they were almost sadder than the slaves they cared about.
Expecting their slaves to love them back, just because they’d fallen for them.
Never understanding that though a slave might be grateful, that it was rare for
a slave to fall in love in return. Most slaves knew better than to risk their
hearts that way.
Jensen didn’t think too highly of free men who claimed they made love to their
slaves, why should he? What difference did it make how they fucked you, in the
end, you just laid there, your owner’s come all over you, waiting for them to
let you go, so you could clean up and get away.
A guy like Thunder, he was more dangerous, exactly because he made you think he
saw you as more than he did. But Jensen knew he couldn’t trust that smile, or
the kindness in those eyes. Jensen had had Masters like that before. Friendly,
personable, and they’d still beat the crap out of him. It didn’t even matter if
he’d set a foot wrong, just that they’d thought he had.
“Hi there.”
Jensen stayed bowed down, quiet, so quiet, scared that saying the wrong thing
would get him killed. Thunder seemed just as hesitant in what to do, creating a
moment where they both just stood there frozen in indecision. Jensen was
mentally screaming at the guy to just do something already.
“Follow me.”
Orders made it easier. The hero left the room, never looking back to see if
Jensen followed him. They moved through stone hallways, past pictures of heroes
present and long gone. Jensen remembered several of them, some of them he’d
fought, others he’d run away from. How would they feel if they saw him now, if
they knew?
Thunder opened a door to a kitchen, and Jensen followed him in. The kitchen was
well organized, he could see the traces of a kitchen slave’s training in how
the kitchen was organized. Herbs, pots, pans, food… Thunder sat down on one of
the stools at the counter while Jensen stood still, hands at his back, eyes
down, hesitating between going into a kneel or waiting for orders.
“Check the refrigerator. I’m sure Adrian has left us some snacks. Get two
sandwiches for us, will you.”
Another test. Jensen checked the room before moving to the two large
refrigerators. He opened the first and quickly went through it before coming
out with two paper wrapped snacks. He made sure to take two that didn’t have a
name on them, while remembering the names on the ones that were claimed.
Jensen looked up. There were plates on the shelf at the top, he grabbed two
before he opened up both sandwiches, each on its own plate along with a knife,
setting them ready at the counter, one in front of Jared, the other beside him.
Then he once again took place where he’d stood before, close enough to follow
commands, but at the same time out of anyone’s path so he wouldn’t hinder.
“Join me.” Jensen didn’t understand. “Sit here, with me.”
Jensen took a breath, then a hesitant step, and another, until he finally took
place on the seat.
“Eat. I’m sure you haven’t eaten in hours. I know I’d be hungry if I were in
your place.” It was a silly thought. Jensen had had two meals that day already,
and there had been times in the past where he’d been lucky to get fed more than
three times a week.
“Thank you, ser,” Jensen said, before biting into his food, enjoying the taste
while it lasted. There was no guarantee that his next owner would be as
generous. Thunder didn’t seem to care what he did, the hero just bit into his
own food, while obviously keeping half an eye on Jensen. Jensen tried not to
look as if he were scared that the food would be taken away from him any second
now. Thunder was one of those who didn’t seem to like it when he looked scared
. Jensen had had owners like that before, free men who didn’t like it when a
slave was shaking in fear. Most of the time it was because it made them feel
uncomfortable, having to acknowledge that a slave might have feelings.
Jensen took a deep breath and tried to gain control of himself, tried to think
of all the little traps he’d hidden in the place, the weapons he could call
upon, but wouldn’t. It had been hard enough to get past his instincts and send
some of his mechs after free men. The idea of attacking any kind of supervisor
went against everything he believed in.
“I don’t know if you remember, but I was there when we saved you from the Jolly
Roger.”
Saved him? Jensen desperately hoped that his expression didn’t betray his
emotions. His time with Master Jolly had been some of the best years of his
life. Sure, Master Jolly expected obedience, he was strict and quick to
discipline, but he was far from the worst owner Jensen had ever had.
He remembered those first few days after Master Jolly had bought him. Walking
on his toes not to piss the man off. Hurrying from one room to another, getting
the Master and the others what they wanted. Going on his knees and taking his
Master’s dick, working through the pain as his Master put him up against the
wall and beat him with a cane. Not because he’d done something wrong, but
because it was his duty to take his owner’s rage after the heroes had beaten
him down once again. And just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, the
Master would stop and fuck him, his lips claiming Jensen’s neck as his dick
pushed his way into Jensen’s entrance. By the second time, Jensen had known to
be prepared for that when his Master was in a mood, by the third time, he’d
gotten used to the hurt and ignored it, happy to be of service. Master Jolly
wasn’t the worst, or the best. But Jensen had known what to do with him.
It had been his life, until the day that Doctor Heyerdahl had asked to borrow
Jensen. The mathematician was working on some kind of equation that the Master
needed. Master Jolly had shrugged, pushed Jensen at the Doctor and lent Jensen
to him for the night without any further questions. Jensen didn’t remember much
of that night. There was the serum that made him beg to be fucked, and then
pain, and more pain, and begging for it to end, and for more of it, all of it
muddled in his mind to the point that most of what he remembered was the glee
in Heyerdahl’s eyes. As the night went on, the serum slowly wore off and Jensen
was left lying on the floor while the doctor slept. Jensen had still been out
of it, his inhibitions lowered.
He wasn’t stupid, he knew not to mess with his owner’s stuff, and yet, under
the influence of the serum he hadn’t been able to help himself. His old flaw,
curiosity, would get him killed one of these days. But Jensen had been too out
of it to stop. Instead he’d moved over to the blackboard and had stared at the
formula, knowing almost instinctively that there was something wrong with it,
numbers and letters in the wrong place. Jensen hadn’t known what the formula’s
purpose was supposed to be, not really. But he’d let the numbers guide him.
By the time he was finished, he stared at the board, and the equation finally
felt right. That was when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t dare turn,
started trembling, ready to beg for forgiveness, but instead he started
muttering that the numbers had to fit. Heyerdahl had looked at the board and
had started laughing. It was scarier than any of the pain the man had put him
through all night.
The next day Jensen had found himself in front of another equation, one just as
easy to solve, and another and another. At the end of the night, he had a cot
of his own and books, his own books. Master Jolly said he wanted him to study,
actually wanted him to learn things, new things, anything he wanted, just as
long as he kept being his Master’s little genius.
And he had. Until the heroes came and screwed it all up.
 
***** Chapter 6 *****
 [ photo 02_divider-j_zps2102f953.png]
 
Something was wrong. Jared wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew that something
was up. Jensen ate, he was duly respectful, but even though he barely knew the
slave, Jared could still feel that he’d said something wrong, that Jensen was
holding back his anger about something. There was this kind of vibe that
reminded him of the way that Adrian acted when Tom and Mike used to screw up a
meal by opening the oven while the cake was still rising. Adrian rarely if ever
yelled at any of the people in the building, especially the kids, but sometimes
Jared could see it in his eyes, those times when he barely managed to hold
himself back. And the one time when he failed to do so and had to be punished
for mouthing off. Admittedly that punishment had been no more than ten swats on
his hand, more done because they couldn’t not, than because Bourne had wanted
to.
Chad had ended up grounded for two months that time. And he’d deserved every
single second of it.
Jared wished he knew what he’d done wrong. Maybe it was as simple as their plan
to arrest the slave’s owner and turn over Jensen’s life. Jared didn’t know much
about slave auctions, but he knew enough that they couldn’t be easy on the
slaves involved. The uncertainty of what kind of Master they’d end up with, the
role they’d have in their new household. And it had to be even harder when you
came from what had seemed to be a pretty accepting owner like Jeff Morgan. A
man who’d spoiled his slave with treats and freedoms that a lot of the more
traditional owners would never consider.
Jared wasn’t quite sure which type of owner he sided with. What would be best
for a slave, an owner who was strict but fair, and kept you out of trouble, or
an owner who didn’t care what you did as long as you stayed out of his way?
It had been easy to talk about how he was going to get Jensen to talk, acting
as if he knew more about slaves than his elders did. But now that Jensen was
here, sitting at the counter with him, all he could see was a nervous young
man, only a few years older than him, who was too scared to set a foot wrong to
even try and start a conversation.
Not that Jared had ever needed anyone else starting conversations. Usually, he
was the one that others had to shut up. But it was different talking to a
slave, now that he didn’t have a specific list of questions to ask.
It was easier to banter with regular people, you could start about the weather,
compliment them on something, get them going. Most people liked talking about
themselves. And if you had to interrogate them, well, most of them had
something to lose, needed some comfort or desperately wanted a hero’s help so
they’d do anything to give you whatever you needed. With a slave like Jensen,
Jared wasn’t sure what he could possibly offer the slave to give up on a life
of holding in, and get him to start talking.
“I’m sure you have some questions.” The words sounded stupid, even to his own
ears, but it was all he could think of.
“Yes, ser.”
And of course no actual question. “So what do you want to know?” he tried to
prompt.
Jensen just sat still on his chair, gazing at his hands. Jared wanted to tell
Jensen to look up, face him. But that would only scare the guy even more.
Instead he grabbed some peanuts from the jar next to him and pushed them at
Jensen, silently telling the slave to take them. It took ages for Jensen’s hand
to move to them, even longer for him to take one and bring it to his lips. He
only dared to take the two others when Jared tried to encourage him to do so
with a smile.
“Why would you wish to arrest Master Morgan?”
Jared almost missed the words when they finally came out of Jensen’s lips. The
slave sounded scared to hear his own voice.
“My Master is not a criminal,” Jensen continued, looking down again. Breathing
so quietly that Jared almost missed the sound of it.
Jared had heard that line from plenty of other slaves. Slaves who belonged to
drug runners and thieves, and all of them would defend their owner’s innocence
even when found in the middle of a heap of evidence. As if getting impounded
was worse than whatever their owner could do to them. And yet, Jensen didn’t
seem like the kind of guy who’d say something at all if he wasn’t sure he was
telling the truth.
Jared closed his eyes, remembering his own doubts. “And you’d think he’d let
you know if he were?” He had a nagging feeling that something about this was
all wrong, and he needed to figure out what.
“I’m sorry, ser.” For a moment Jared worried that he’d sent Jensen back into
silence. Luckily Jensen was braver than that. “Master Morgan is a good man, he
would not break the law.” There was an edge in his tone. As if he were offended
by the very idea of his owner being anything else. Of course Jensen would feel
angry that any of his owners could possibly be accused of any wrong doings. It
was part of a slave’s training to trust their owner to do the right thing.
Guilt or innocence had nothing to do with it. Did slaves even understand the
difference?
“We have reasons to believe he’s the Brain.” He tried to make himself sound
convinced, but it was hard when he’d been doubting Morgan’s guilt himself. The
man was stodgy, a loner and maybe a bit eccentric, especially in the way he
treated his property. But he hadn’t felt like someone who would harm innocent
children, the way the Brain had been accused of doing lately.
Jensen looked away, hiding something. Jared moved over to the coffee maker and
made himself a cup, black, no sugar, and handed Jensen a glass of water from
the faucet before he went and grabbed some grapes from the tray.
“He isn’t,” Jensen muttered, almost as if the words had escaped him against his
will. It caught Jared’s attention more than if he’d shouted them.
“Sure of that, are you?” And it was the first mention that Jensen did know the
real Brain. Jared paused, picking up an apple before putting it back, hoping
that Jensen would dare to talk more freely if he didn’t have Jared’s eyes on
him.
“I… Master Morgan is not the Brain.” Then he repeated the words, clearer, less
quiet. Jared looked at the slave’s reflection in the mirrored surface behind
the cooking area. “My Master is not the Brain,” Jensen said again, sitting up,
his back straight as if he were trying to collect his courage to get the words
out.
“Because you know who the Brain really is?” Jared finally turned around,
throwing Jensen some of the grapes. They caught him unprepared and hit his
chest, falling on the counter in front of him. Jensen froze, but Jared ignored
it.
Jensen stared at him, hesitant, before he picked up one of the grapes and
brought it to his lips. Then he nodded, “Yes,” he said, his lips opening for
the grape, looking perfect as they let it in, “and it isn’t Master Morgan.
Master Morgan is a good man, a law abiding man.”
Jared sighed, trying to think of all the evidence he’d collected, all his own
hesitations and doubts. The way Jeff Morgan had seemed to find ease just in
letting his slave find comfort while spending time with him. It just didn’t
feel like the way a supervillain would behave, or at least the way the Brain
had treated Jensen the last time he’d owned him.
“I think you might be right.”
That actually seemed to shock the slave for the first time in their
conversation. “But that still doesn’t explain the rest of it.”
The slave didn’t ask. It was starting to annoy the hell out of Jared, how quiet
Jensen was when you didn’t specifically tell him he could talk. And then Jared
got pissed off at himself for expecting Jensen to behave against every bit of
conditioning he’d been through. Most people didn’t want curious slaves,
opinionated slaves, they didn’t want slaves talking any more than they
absolutely had to, because then they’d have to admit their slaves had opinions
on things to begin with.
Most slaves were smart enough to keep their mouth shut. Well they did until
they trusted you enough to talk back. Adrian was like that as well. To most of
the others, he was just the silent presence in the house, no more an individual
than any of the machines in the building. But Jared had gotten to know him over
the years, and the man had a wicked sense of humor.
If Jared had the money he would have bought the older slave himself years ago.
But even with the paycheck he got from the council, he couldn’t afford to
properly care for a slave
of his own. Not yet, not until he got some more years behind him, and the
experience to be a senior member of the team. At this point Jared could barely
afford a companion slave. He looked back at Jensen, and shrugged it off.
“How much do you know about the Brain’s technology?”
There was a twinkle in the slave’s eyes at the question, but all he said was,
“A little bit.”
Something was majorly off. Sure Jensen would have seen the Brain’s tech, right,
but he didn’t think that was what the slave meant. He bit into another grape as
he tried to collect his thoughts.
“That’s more than most.” Jensen looked away, his face bent downwards once more.
He was biting his lip, as if part of him was scolding himself for speaking out
at all. Jared had to nip that in the bud. “Do you know that it’s assumed that
the Brain is one of the most intelligent men in the world?”
Another hint of a glint in Jensen’s eye as if he was amused by the very idea.
“He’s always used technology far beyond anything even the council uses. Almost
undetectable, with a lot of it nano-based. Most of it fades to dust when
touched by unauthorized hands.” The movements Jensen made were so minimal that
Jared would have missed him nodding along with Jared’s words if he hadn’t been
watching for it. Something definitely was wrong here, he tried to act as though
nothing was wrong as he continued. “Except last week… the team got their hands
on one of his droids, they managed to freeze it long enough to get their hands
on some of its inner workings.”
And now Jensen seemed interested, a bit skeptical, but truly interested at
last.
“The chips inside belonged to a firm called Kripke Incorporated, the same firm
your owner, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, works for. And they claim he’s the only one
with access to that kind of tech.“
Jensen actually rolled his eyes at that. As if the very idea of the Brain using
Kripke tech was too ridiculous to consider.
“If it didn’t disintegrate, then how do you know that the droid you captured
was the Brain’s?”
It was the first time that Jensen volunteered a comment without being asked for
it. He seemed shocked at his own audacity in doing so. And then Jared realized
that he was also right. All the Brain’s tech disintegrated before they got
their hands on it. It had become his signature, like a shout out telling you
that the Brain had been involved. Except the very tech that implicated Morgan,
tech that wasn’t even nearly as advanced as the Brain’s tech was supposed to
be.
“You really trust your Master, don’t you, boy?” Jared asked, looking for any
signs in the slave’s face.
“Of course, ser, he’s my Master. A good slave must always trust his owner,
ser.”
Straight out of the book. But that wasn’t what Jared wanted to know.
“Lose the bullshit, Jensen. Do you, or do you not, trust your Master? Really
trust him, not this polite, obedient ‘do not insult your owner’ crap.”
The man seemed a bit taken aback.
“Master Morgan is a good man, I… I trust him.” Jensen seemed surprised by his
own vehemence, shivering under Jared’s eyes. “He is not the Brain. He’s not,
I’ve seen the Brain’s face, and it’s not my Master’s.”
Damn it, Bourne wouldn’t believe it, but there was no way a slave would talk so
strongly about anything, if they weren’t telling the truth.
Slaves lied, he tried to remember, slaves lied to defend themselves, slaves
lied to defend their owners, slaves lied.
Except Jensen wasn’t lying. Not this time.
“Then what does the Brain look like?” Jared asked, wondering how Jensen would
respond.
“Younger,” Jensen answered. “About my age.” His eyes were twinkling as if Jared
was missing some big joke that only Jensen could understand.
Then Jared remembered the way the lab had looked, the music that had been
playing when Jared had activated the tech in the wall. He’d thought it back
then as well. It hadn’t felt like a serious supervillain’s lab, more like a
teenager’s, where someone just figuring things out could experiment, just like
the Brain’s weapons, gadgets and tools had kept getting better, as if their
owner was figuring things out as he went along. It made sense. The Brain was a
Mastermind in his own right, and the only way that someone like the Jolly Roger
could have kept him under control was if the Brain was young enough to still
respond to the authority of someone older than himself, someone like his
guardian, maybe even his father….
“Thank you, Jensen.“
He was almost out of the kitchen before he remembered that he couldn’t just
leave the slave on his own like that. Not on unknown ground. “Clean up our
mess, I’ll send Adrian to show you a place to sleep. Just don’t leave the
kitchen until then.”
Jensen responded, but Jared was already leaving, wondering what he should do
with this new information. And if Morgan wasn’t the Brain, then where had the
scientist gone off to?
[_photo_02_divider-je_zps60aaa00d.png]
Thunder wasn’t stupid.
It’s not like that was news, but… even a short conversation like the one Jensen
just had with the hero had reminded him that he shouldn’t underestimate the man
just because Thunder had that puppy dog look combined with the body of a
barbarian.
Jensen took his time throwing away the plastic wrap and cleaning up their
plates. It was one thing, sitting idle at Master Morgan’s place. He knew the
man’s routine, what the guy expected of him. He knew that Master Morgan felt
uncomfortable when the kitchen was too shiny, when his home was too clean.
Master Morgan said that it had made the place feel too sterile. The Master had
wanted his home to have that lived in feel. Where the dog could make a mess on
the floor and it wouldn’t feel like sacrilege. Jensen worried about Bandit, but
he was sure that the heroes had gotten him taken care of. They were the good
guys, they wouldn’t just abandon a dog.
Jensen didn’t like it, every speck of dirt felt like an insult against his
skills. But it was more important for his owner to be happy than for Jensen to
keep his rating up. After a while he stopped cleaning up after every speck of
dirt. Even if his owner still called him a neat freak for straightening his
books or getting rid of the dishes as soon as Master Morgan left him free to do
so.
Cleaning relaxed him, it didn’t require any thought. When he was cleaning he
could lose himself in the lab in his mind and move on to new innovations, spend
his time building new tech, look at thousands of permutations of a single virus
cell. Sitting around, on the other hand, made him feel antsy. As if one of the
overseers would come in at any time and put him up against the wall for
laziness. Sitting around made him think of banks and break ins, new ideas on
hacking the police mainframe or ways to enhance his nanites, even if he knew he
couldn’t do the latter if there was any chance of him getting caught in the
act. So instead he’d sit there, staring at the television, memorizing every
last idea that crossed his mind and improving on them as he did so.
It was different here. Playing dumb amongst the world’s most dangerous group of
boy scout regulators was like walking past one of Master Jolly’s traps. You
never knew when you’d hit a razor wire. Part of him kept wondering when they’d
see through him, whether the Yonder would stomp in and take him down, execute
him in the garage where the stains would be easily cleaned or drag him off to
the labs for experimentation like any super powered slave would be.
Would they drain his blood until they’d tagged every last nanochip out of his
cells? Would they even realize what they had? Would they see him? Or would they
think of him as no more than a vessel of whatever they’d blame the nanites for?
Jensen had heard this joke once. Of the old man with the noisy neighbors. Every
day he’d complain about the noise, until at the end of the day, he’d wait for
the neighbor to take off his shoes. First one, then the other, and every night,
he’d wait for that second shoe to drop and the peace to return.
Until one day. There was the bother of the kitchen, the radio was too loud, the
… every last bit of sound that came with daily life. And then it came, the shoe
dropped right above his head, where the neighbor had gone to bed. First one,
and then.. nothing.
One minute he lied there, two, half an hour, his nerves tensing up, just
desperately waiting for relief until his heart gave out from it.
When asked the day after, the neighbor didn’t understand. He’d tried to be
nice, so when he’d been taking off his shoes, he’d dropped the first one before
he remembered, and took the second one and gently placed it on the carpet
instead.
It was supposed to be funny.
Jensen tried to calm his breathing as he put the plates back in their cabinet,
gently removing the stains from the metal of the knives, followed by cleaning
off the counters and the walls behind the stove with paper towels, removing
every hint of use, fingerprints and all.
There was a newspaper there. “Carver twins sold,” it said. Jensen tried not to
look at it. The boys were slaves now. He knew he was blamed for them getting
taken.
He didn’t think anyone would listen if he told them it wasn’t him.
He was still spooked when he heard someone coughing behind him. Shivering as he
turned around, checking to see if he should kneel and submit or not. Instead it
was another slave. Jensen bowed his head, showing his respect to his senior,
quietly trying to make it clear that he wasn’t a threat, that he wasn’t trying
to take over the other’s position and make him irrelevant. Even if they both
knew that Jensen wouldn’t have any control over any of that.
“Well, that’s going to save me some work tomorrow,” the guy said with a bigger
smile than Jensen would have had for him if the situation had been reversed.
“Next time you feel antsy, mind doing the oven as well. I’ve been putting that
off all week.”
There was a lightness of tone in his voice, as if he were kidding, but Jensen
put it on his list of things to do regardless. It was always best to keep the
older slaves happy in case he was here long enough to get in the other’s way.
It was always tricky, navigating these kinds of situations. You didn’t want a
slave to think you were trying to replace them in the Master’s good graces. But
you didn’t want to seem too much of a waste either, because older slaves like
these usually gained some level of trust from their owners. Enough so that they
could convince their owner to get rid of you instead.
“I’m Adrian,” the other slave said. Neither of them offered their hand. “Master
Thunder said that you’ll be staying here for a while.”
Of course he had. Jensen wrung his hands and quickly put away the kitchen paper
he’d been using to clean.
“They think my owner is a criminal.” Short, simple, and it should put the older
slave at ease.
“Let me guess, he isn’t.” Adrian waved his hand, not giving Jensen time to
respond. “Life’s life, kid, if he’s innocent, the guys will prove it and then
you can go back to the guy whether you want to or not.”
“I would like that.” Jensen was surprised at his own words, even more so that
he meant them. The only owners he’d ever missed had been Master Chris (and he’d
been a child back then, so it had been easy to idolize his young owner) and
later Master Jolly. He still missed the kind of person he was allowed to be
while Master Jolly had been around.
“Then you’re luckier than most,” Adrian added, interrupting Jensen’s thoughts
as he lead them both to a nondescript room at the end of a corridor. There was
a bed on the right and a sleeping mat that had been hastily set up on the left.
“The bed’s mine. But those mats are surprisingly soft.”
Neither of them bothered to undress. Jensen’s sleepwear had been left at Master
Morgan’s place and he was sure that Adrian didn’t trust him enough to make
himself that defenseless around another slave. Especially a companion slave
like Jensen.
Jensen shook up the mat a bit, wiping off his feet before sitting down.
“It’s fine. My previous owner preferred them, said they took up less space and
could be put away in a minute. He didn’t like it when his slaves showed their
presence too much.”
“Most don’t.”
It was the usual interaction between slaves that didn’t know one another too
well. Gossip amongst slaves was frowned upon, and far too often harshly
punished. That didn’t stop it from happening, but it took awhile and a lot of
trust before they could get there. Jensen had no issue being patient. It was
always best to know all the traps and sinkholes when you were in a new place.
They both laid down and Jensen sank his head on the pillow Adrian had thrown
his way. He already missed his bed at Master Morgan’s. It still shocked him how
easy it was to get used to little comforts, especially when you knew they could
be taken away at any time.
Adrian went to sleep shortly after and Jensen followed his example, setting his
internal alarm to wake him up a few hours later. His dreams were broken,
pushing him back to his time with Master Chris, sitting at the table, coloring.
Master Chris would focus on his paper, drawing outside the lines as usual while
Jensen carefully stuck to realism, finding it impossible to achieve the proper
colors.
Chris was telling him about his day but Jensen wasn’t listening, too busy
trying to get the veins and shadows right on the image of the anatomically
incorrect little girl.
“Reality’s overrated, little brother,” Chris said before he handed Jensen the
purple and suggested to use it for the girl’s hair.
When Jensen did she turned to him and smiled, her lips broken and the slave
tattoo over her eyes felt tacked on. Then she wiped her hand over her face and
the tattoo wiped off with it.
When Jensen woke up, he felt ill at ease, turned over on his stomach and tried
to calm his breathing. Adrian was still asleep next to him. He’d prefer to keep
it that way.
Jensen blinked five consecutive times, activating the nanites in his blood to
open a connection. It was an essential trick to reach out to any and all mechs
he had in the vicinity, whether they were his own, or those he’d hijacked
around the building. The holographs were projected directly on his pupils so
nobody else would see them. The Freedom Squad’s headquarters was quiet, for the
most part at least.
The Blue Yonder was training in the basement and Trigger and Psych were sharing
a drink in Trigger’s quarters, a young rented girl slowly undressing herself in
front of them. She was doing a good job, keeping them focused on her dancing,
stretching out her time as her owners had doubtlessly instructed her.
The Avenging Angel was out of the building, probably patrolling. The winged
hero was rarely not active in one way or the other. There were days that Jensen
wondered if the man even had a personal life to be discovered. The lower levels
of the building were quiet. Most of the kids were already in bed, and the ones
that weren’t were playing games in their rooms. There were only a few of them
present at this point. Jensen wondered what they’d be like as grown ups, but
for now he ignored them, trying to find Tank, who was missing.
Thunder seemed to be arguing with one of the tech guys. Jensen still hadn’t
figured out what the guy’s codename was, everyone just seemed to call him Chad.
They were sharing a pizza and Jared had a bag of candy standing next to him.
The meeting room was empty, and there was a computer terminal in the hall that
he could probably use to gain access, check out what evidence they’d found so
he could figure out who the hell was framing Master Morgan. He looked in on the
heroes again, just to make sure they wouldn’t interrupt him, before diverting
the video feed. Thunder, his buddy, the Yonder…
Trigger was lying on the floor. Jensen switched the camera feed to a different
angle as he heard a scream. Psych’s. The rented girl turned to her side,
showing her face for the first time. The mark on it was fake.
Danneel Harris. Sugar. A grifter, a thief and a fucking power house. And all
around the most dangerous free woman he’d met in his entire life. Jensen
remembered her all right. He remembered her tracking him down, cornering him
during a party. He’d been servicing his owner’s guests when she’d come up to
him. She was the only one who’d ever managed to find his real self, and the
only one that had dared to give him a choice. It wasn’t a choice he could
accept, but it had been a choice nonetheless.
She’d had him eat her out while she told him about the man she was working for.
A new Mastermind who liked to keep himself hidden. A man who said he wanted to
turn over the world order. She told him that there could be a place for someone
as smart as him in her boss’ organization.
Jensen had been glad that his mouth had been too occupied to allow him to
answer.
“He could buy you, if you wanted him to,” she’d offered. “If that makes it
easier for you. Get you away from this idiot who doesn’t have a clue just what
he has in his hands.”
Jensen had tried to imagine it, going back to the way things had been under the
Jolly Roger, to the way Master Jolly had treated him. And he’d been tempted, oh
so tempted. But what if Master Jolly came back and found he’d picked another
owner over him?
Jensen had had to say no, had had to refuse, had begged her not to tell anyone
who he was. She’d agreed, he hadn’t trusted her. Hadn’t trusted anyone. So he
hit her with a hypno ray and wiped her mind of the encounter, checked her
computer and possessions for evidence of his name, and then he cleared those as
well. He’d looked down on her, seen her body, that beauty mark on her side,
those exact same spots on her thighs, and he’d regretted his choice.
But he knew he’d do the same thing all over again if he had to.
He sat up, staring into the dark, but really at the footage overlaying his
normal vision, hugging his legs as he did so. He wondered if he should hit the
alarm. How much loyalty did he have to these people? But then he looked at
Adrian who was slowly waking up, Adrian who was helpless in a way Jensen
himself wasn’t. He closed his eyes and placed his hand on the other slave’s
head, hitting him with a sedation frequency. Adrian’s REM process took off
again, pulling him deeper into sleep as Jensen got up to his feet. Whatever
else he might do, Jensen would never risk another slave’s life.
Had Sugar somehow managed to remember him? Had he missed something that led her
here? If she knew who he was and what he’d done to her, would she be angry with
him?
But how would she even know he was here? It was probably some kind of vengeance
on the heroes, but he had no idea to know what kind.
He activated the alarm in Trigger’s room, praying they’d blame it on something
Sugar did wrong. Thunder and … Chad ran out of the control room instantly,
heading downstairs, Thunder taking the lead. Jensen moved out of the room and
up to the terminal. If there was ever a time to use a distraction to get his
work done, this was it.
He activated the link, never touching the computer. He didn’t have to. He
managed to download all the intel and moved on, looking for a toilet as a
reason to be out of Adrian’s room in case any of them ran into him.
How much of it was his fault? Thunder would have never gone after Master Morgan
if Jensen hadn’t been too arrogant to cover his tracks. Jensen had led one hero
to his owner’s house, and when there was one, the others followed. He wondered
how he’d ever underestimated Thunder as badly as he had.
Then again, Thunder had been the only one to spot his mistake, the others
seemed to be following false leads, carefully spread out crumb traces made up
of lies and old tech that he’d built over a decade ago. Legal tech that Master
Jolly had sold on the market to keep his fake company afloat, set to be
released year by year, whenever the Master needed some cash, and yet none of it
was traced back to the business. Whoever had gotten their hands on it had known
what they were doing, releasing it to Kripke Inc, then connecting it to the
Brain.
Somebody wanted Master Morgan to go down, but why?
***** Chapter 7 *****
 [ photo 02_divider-j_zps2102f953.png]
 
“I’m just not sure it’s really him,” Jared whispered. He wasn’t even sure why
this was so important. After all the effort he’d put into proving that Morgan
was the Brain, he really shouldn’t be trying to prove he was wrong. He should
just keep quiet, enjoy the fact that he was working with the team on this one,
and that Bourne at least hadn’t kicked him out yet. But the truth was more
important to him.
Misha sat down on the desk, looking thoughtful. “Maybe that’s what the Brain
wants you to think. Have you considered that?”
Jared tried, but he couldn’t imagine how Morgan could’ve had the forethought to
plan a cover story if he hadn’t even known Jared was watching him.
The Angel spread his wings, stretching out the mechanical tail feathers for a
moment before pulling them in again. Jared couldn’t help but admire the
metallic glints.
Misha seemed a bit embarrassed by the display he’d put on. He always was. Jared
had asked him about it once and Misha said his father had been embarrassed by
his son’s abilities. It was one thing for the man to have a child with
superpowers, but something as ridiculous as the ability to float, he’d been
embarrassed by the very idea. So Misha had gone to the effort of getting wings
implanted in the hope that those at least would make him more maneuverable. It
hadn’t helped his father’s attitude.
Jared didn’t know much about Misha’s family, just that he was always alone on
holidays. His mother had died when Misha was younger than Jared was now, and
Misha and his father had fallen out long before the man had died. Jared always
took care to make it clear to the hero that to him at least, Misha was family.
Misha never seemed to mind, and any card Jared made for him had always managed
to end up on a special spot on Misha’s living room wall.
“The Brain isn’t stupid, Jared. If he spotted you, he could have tried to act
normal to fool you.”
“It’s just that Jensen….”
“Let me guess, the slave thinks his Master is innocent.”
Jared nodded. Somehow Misha managed to make him feel silly for taking Jensen’s
word on it.
“Slaves lie, Jared.“
“I know. I know that slaves will do anything to protect their owners. I’m not
that new at this. It’s just… Jensen knew the Brain, Misha. He knew the Brain
and he said that the Brain was his age. Not Morgan’s, but Jensen’s.”
“Slaves lie. They can’t not, protecting their owners is all they know to do.
There’s a reason slaves can’t stand witness in court, no matter what they’ve
seen. They have to lie. If they don’t, their owners would take it out on their
hides when they got free. “
Jared wanted to protest, wanted to tell him about the rest of his suspicions,
but Misha shut him up with a look.
“I know he looks pretty, that he looks innocent. But don’t be fooled. He’s not
a person, he’s a possession. And it’s hard for property to get used to changes
in ownership. It’s not even his fault, he just doesn’t know any better. Slaves
can’t handle being without their owners. It’s why they’re owned in the first
place.”
When Misha left, his wings spread wide as he flew up in the air, Jared tried to
ignore that voice in his head that told him to protest, to shout after Misha
that he was wrong. He kept his silence.
So instead he grabbed some coffee, some snacks and a couple of double meat
lover’s pizzas out of the freezer, heating them up as he went, and headed up to
Chad. Joining him couldn’t be worse than waiting for Misha so they could argue
some more.
Chad didn’t disappoint. They quickly began to argue about pretty much nothing,
but that was par for the course. Sitting here with Chad, watching the screens
and keeping an eye on police alerts, was nothing more than a way to waste time.
After all, it was hard not to get distracted when you were sitting with someone
like Chad Murray, aka the Dude, aka the most annoying jerk in the city. Sure,
Chad could play his games, have online sex chats and cruise the internet in a
way that made Jared want to wear gloves using his keyboards, and somehow still
manage to keep a perfect eye on anything going on in the city at the same time.
But that was Chad for you, and Jared knew better than to try and copy him. Not
that Jared minded, it’s not like Chad could copy him in jumping off a building
and flying off either.
He’d just been ranting in defense of red licorice eaten along with pizza. Chad
had disagreed. And then Chad stole his licorice, completely destroying the
argument he’d just spent the past hour defending. Not that Jared minded, he
always brought extra. It was nice sitting there, allowing himself to forget
about all the crap he was dealing with. The Brain, whether he should believe a
slave or not, and what that said about him. Chad was good for that, making you
shut off your mind.
And then the alarm went off.
He jumped out of his chair and into the air, racing through the door in his
immaterial form.
“It’s Stephen’s apartment,” Chad yelled after him. Jared instantly moved down
the stairway, it’d be faster than the elevators, especially in an emergency.
He’d tried going out of the window once, and sure it got him down fast, but
there was no way of getting through the windows once you were outside. He’d
learned his mistake the hard way. The damn thing messed with his powers,
knocking him out. It had almost killed him the last time he’d tried to sneak
out.
He pushed open the fire doors heading down to the apartment and kicked down the
apartment door. She looked like a vengeful fury. Half naked, covered in dust
and holding Psych over her head. Robbie was too out of it to put up a fight.
“Fuck, Sugar.”
The girl, no, the woman, grinned as she saw him. He waited just a second too
long and then she threw Robbie at him. Jared knew he had two options, let
Robbie go through him and avoid the hit, or stop the other hero from hitting
the wall. The choice was easily made. Robbie for all his mental abilities was
just a regular human physical-wise and with the force Sugar had thrown him,
contact could easily break bones, or worse, his neck.
That didn’t make the kick of it any less.
He fell to the floor, pushed Robbie off of him and powered up, just in time to
force her back with a roundhouse kick. Chad arrived just in time to take Robbie
and pull him to safety.
There was no time to look back. All he could do was hope that Chad had the
common sense to get Trigger and Psych the hell away before Sugar’s
reinforcements arrived. Sugar wasn’t stupid enough to invade Freedom Tower
without backup. That and he had no idea what she was up to. He just hoped he
wasn’t too late already.
And sure, Trigger could be an asshole, the older Amell was an arrogant son of a
bitch with a habit of humiliating anyone he took down, but Jared didn’t think
that even Sugar would take the risk to attack him here over that. It’s not like
the guy was that hard to take out on the outside. Trigger’s ability to create
endless ammo of any variety was not nearly as much protection as he liked to
pretend it was.
When something landed on Jared’s back, he let it hit him for a second before
sending an electric shockwave through his entire body.
It took him almost too long to realize it was Plastic, a class five
shapeshifter who’d probably entered the building the same time that Sugar had.
The guy threw himself around Jared, forcing him to the ground. Jared tried a
low range blast but it had little to no effect. Jared tried a few steps higher,
but he stopped when Plastic held on no matter how strong Jared made his blast.
At this rate, Jared would have to kill the shapeshifter to get rid of him, and
Jared refused to be pushed into killing anyone. He hadn’t done so far and he
wasn’t planning to change that any time soon. Instead he lifted himself up,
forcing himself toward Sugar with Plastic still surrounding him, using the
shapeshifter as a shield while he went after the man’s partner.
Sugar of course tried to defend herself, but her blast was finally enough to
knock Plastic off of Jared, making him roll up in a ball, slipping away to the
corner.
“You won’t get rid of us that easy, Thunder.” Sugar said, her voice low,
seductive. Jared ignored it, building up a charge that could take her down. And
then another something hit him in the back. He turned, just in time to see
someone standing there, a blurry figure, wearing a costume that looked far too
much like the Jolly Roger’s. But that couldn’t be, the Jolly Roger had been
dead for over ten years. They had a body to prove it, so who was pretending to
be him and why?
Jared tried to keep standing, looking around for a way out, help, and then he
spotted Jensen. The slave stood just around the corner, staring at the fight.
Jared wanted to yell at him to run, but it was too late. Jared was already
tumbling down, the pain too much for his mind to cope.
When he came to, he was on a couch in the meeting room. Trigger and Psych were
on the floor on the other side of the room. Trigger was bleeding, Chad,
kneeling beside them, was looking after them. Jared tried to shake off the
remnants of the haze surrounding his thoughts just as Jensen entered the room,
a plate with drinks in his hands. Adrian came right after him with the medical
supplies. The older slave seemed just as dazed.
Jensen offered the drinks before standing back, hands behind his back and
waiting for orders as Adrian handed the supplies needed to care for Trigger’s
head wound.
Jared didn’t think he was bleeding, but his head hurt and it was hard to sit
up, and stay that way without his eyes going blurry.
Misha was standing by the window. He was fuming, but he wasn’t half as mad as
Bourne, who looked like he was about to tear someone apart. From the looks of
it, that someone was Trigger.
“What the fuck were you idiots thinking?!” he screamed. Psych was shaking in
place. “Bringing a stranger into the building, without checking her out,
without even doing a facial recog, without….”
“We thought it was just a slave, we just ordered her from this escort service.”
He fell quiet.
“You let two fucking supervillains march straight into the building. Don’t even
try to come up with excuses, because they’ll only make it worse.”
Jared had to hold back a chuckle. Not just to keep Bourne from hearing it, but
because it hurt too much to laugh. He didn’t think that anyone would like it if
he gave them a bit of ‘I told you so’, especially after all the time he’d
warned them to look at slaves beyond their mark. He managed not to look too
smug. From the wink Misha threw him, Jared didn’t think it had worked. He was
just glad that Adrian started binding his ribs before he had to look Trigger in
the eye.
“We still don’t know what they were looking for, why they came here, or why
they left.“
“Wait, what?” Jared sat up, falling back down almost instantly, the pain in his
head too severe to ignore. “What do you mean, you don’t know why they left?”
The words came out as a struggle. “Last I remember, I lost consciousness. I
thought one of you two had gotten rid of them?”
“If only.” Bourne turned to the window, his arms crossed. “Somebody blocked the
elevators. By the time I got upstairs, they were already gone, and the rest of
you were knocked out.“
Oh fuck. Jared leant back into the chair as Adrian finished checking over his
head.
“As far as I know they didn’t steal anything.” Bourne continued. But how could
they be sure of that? The building was huge. There was a long tradition of
members of the Squad bringing in souvenirs, evidence, bits and pieces found at
bad guys’ lairs, many of them that had never been inventoried. Considering the
amount of stuff kept all over headquarters it might take weeks, maybe even
years before they would realize some of the stuff was missing. “They went
through the system, but there’s no trace of what they were looking for. As far
as I can see they didn’t even hide a virus, though Chad will be making a more
thorough check of that later so we can be certain.”
For all they knew their very systems could be booby trapped, and would crash
the moment they tried to use them.
“So they didn’t really do anything except knock us around a bit,” Robbie
muttered. “That’s good, right.”
Hadn’t he heard about the computer? Of course he hadn’t. Jared sighed,
wondering how Robbie had ever managed to land a spot on the team, why didn’t
they just get Mike to join instead? Sure the guy had thrown a party or two that
involved naked strippers and the mayor’s daughter, but still… he’d never have
done something as stupid as invite any of them back in the Tower.
“Not until we know for sure that’s what they were after, you numbskull,” Bourne
said it for him.
Jared got up from the couch, grabbing for his head and nearly falling as he was
hit by another dizzy spell. He suddenly found himself held by unknown arms
keeping him up. When Jared looked at him, Jensen lowered his eyes, obviously
worried about touching a free man without permission. Jared made a special
effort to smile at him as he leaned on the other man’s shoulder, steadying
himself.
“Are you sure they’re out of the building?” Jared asked. You could hear a pin
drop in the following silence. “With Plastic’s shapeshifting, he could be
disguised as anything. And Sugar did get past our security system.”
It was the first time that Bourne looked at Jared with something akin to
respect. Jared almost felt embarrassed by the attention, even though it was
something he’d wanted for years.
“Murray, scan the entire building. Jared’s right. As long as we don’t know what
they want, we can’t exclude the idea that they’re still inside. Amell, both of
you, get out of my sight. Now!”
Chad was already busy on his handhold as Stephen and Robbie scurried off, Jared
had no idea where to. Though knowing Stephen, he was probably going to do
everything to find out how a known supervillain had managed to replace the girl
sent by his usual supplier. Jared wondered if he’d been thinking the same thing
he had about Robbie, but then Stephen had been the first one to speak up for
Robbie’s sake when a spot on the team had opened up. Family was like that.
“Adrian, get me some coffee,” Bourne continued as he brought up the screens,
focusing on all they knew on both supervillains. “And Jared, get some sleep.”
Jared nodded. “Good job, kid. At least some of you know what you actually
signed up for.” Bourne muttered before forgetting that Jared existed.
Jared wanted to move, and it was lucky that Jensen was there to help him do so.
He shivered at the thought of what those people could have done to the young
slave. Part of him wondered why they’d left him alone. Neither Plastic nor
Sugar were known for their kindness towards bystanders.
“Glad you got away safe.” he whispered to Jensen as soon as they were out of
earshot.
Jensen stared at him.
“I saw you during the fight. I was worried sick they would have done something
to you if they’d seen you.”
“Thank you, ser. But they did not.”
Mechanical, simple answer. Jared smiled anyway, glad to get Jensen talking.
“You really should have been in bed, like Adrian.”
Jensen bit his lip, his eyes stood wide open. Jared could almost hit himself.
Jensen probably thought he’d be punished for being out of bed.
“Not that there’s something wrong with that. It’s not like you had to stay in
bed if you didn’t feel like it. Hell, I know how often when Misha sent me and
Chad to bed, we’d be prowling the halls, hoping none of the adults saw us, just
because we were too tense to sleep. I can’t imagine it’s any different. New
place, new owners. A guy could be tense for less, right?” Jared stopped
rambling to look at Jensen and noticed the slave was fighting a smile from
breaking out. Yes! Jackpot.
“Did you see who knocked us out?” he asked. “I thought I saw… but I couldn’t
have…” it couldn’t have been the Jolly Roger. Sheppard was dead, had been for
almost a decade. Must have just been a guy dressing a bit like him. Jared
wasn’t sure if he should mention it. Maybe Jensen still had nightmares about
the guy. Jared couldn’t imagine that it would have been easy, being owned by a
sadistic monster like that.
“I’m sorry, ser. I ducked for cover when the fighting began.” Jensen whispered,
there was a sense of guilt in his tone. The poor guy probably felt bad for
running away while the rest of them were in trouble. Even though there was
nothing he could have done. Jared knew he had to put a stop to that.
“You did good, it’s what you should have done. No need for you to get hurt in a
fight like that.”
And once again, Jensen seemed shocked at something Jared had said. Jared didn’t
see what was so weird about it. He was a hero, a good guy, it was his job to
care when people got hurt and to want to do anything to stop it.
Jensen looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead they kept moving
until they hit Jared’s room. Jensen somehow managed to open the door without
letting go of Jared and got Jared to his bed, setting him down with far too
much ease.
“You’re good at this. Guess you’re good at lots of things,” Jared whispered,
feeling the jackhammer hitting his head like the strike of a clock. Jensen
seemed to hesitate.
“Do you wish anything more of me, ser?”
“Just… get me some painkillers, would you? They’re in the bathroom cabinet.”
Jensen disappeared from sight and appeared back in front of him mere moments
later, a glass and some pills in his hand. “And stay with me. It’d be nice to
know you’re safe.” Then he laid down and blacked out again with the image of
Jensen standing beside him the last thing he saw.
He didn’t think to ask how Jensen had known which one was his room until he was
already falling asleep.
[_photo_02_divider-je_zps60aaa00d.png]
Jensen sank down against the wall, closed his eyes, and tried to think of the
new nanites he’d been working on all week. But no matter how much he tried to
do so, the more his thoughts kept going back to the fight. He'd hit Sugar and
Plastic with a sonic blast from one of the mechs he’d hidden in the wall.
When he turned on the third man, the guy disappeared before Jensen’s eyes,
abandoning his friends to the heroes’ mercy.
Jensen had waited a second before he heard a groan. He’d turned around and
threw a kick at Sugar's head, just to check if she was out. She'd moved, so
he'd hit her again. Only when he was sure they were both out for the count had
he dared to take the next step and check up on Thunder. The hero had looked so
young, almost deceptively helpless. Jensen had bent down beside him and pushed
a strand of hair off of the man's face. Thunder was still breathing. Jensen had
tried to make him more comfortable before he'd returned his focus on the two
villains.
He couldn't let the heroes capture them. Even knowing that they'd escape,
eventually. He remembered the look on Sugar’s face when she’d given him her
offer. The way she’d touched him back and whispered his name. It had been a
trick of course, but even for those few short moments she’d known his name. Not
even all of his owners had done that much.
They’d attacked his current guardians, the people in charge of his life. As a
slave he should do everything to service those in control of him. But somehow
seeing these two lying there, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Then Plastic’s face had started rippling and his mind was made up for him.
Jensen had looked around, checking to make sure the heroes wouldn't get in his
way. He'd made sure to block the elevator before he grabbed on to Plastic's
hands. He took one last look around before he dragged the shapeshifter out of
the way and into a supply cabinet. He pushed a nano neutralizer in the guy's
neck to keep him from shifting before he tied him up. He stuffed Sugar in there
with her friend, binding her hands with cuffs to keep her from getting out and
causing him trouble later.
By the time he got back and turned the corner, the other heroes had already
gotten to Thunder. All that Jensen had left to do was play the role of dutiful
slave who'd come to check up on the noise. Thunder could have blown the lid on
that, even if Jensen hadn't lied. Instead, though without explicitely saying so
the hero had pretty much told him that he was ok with Jensen wandering around.
That he understood. It had left Jensen stunned, even more so when it turned out
that the only thing Thunder had worried about was the idea of Jensen getting
hurt.
No free man ever cared that much about a slave's safety, no hero. And yet
Thunder had. It left Jensen confused, and sitting still, wondering how to
react.
Jensen should be looking in on Sugar and Plastic. Get them to leave without
causing trouble, or at least find out what they were up to. And yet, all he
could do was stare at Thunder, at Jared. He wasn’t even sure why he cared. He’d
disobeyed orders before. And the hero was drugged up. He’d probably be pissed
when he realized that Jensen was still there when he woke up. Free men liked
their privacy.
Jensen had been beat up for following orders in the past when his owner no
longer remembered giving said orders in the first place. Jensen hated beer. No,
he hated how free men behaved when they were drunk. How handsy they got. How
they slurred their commands. How some of them got violent when he didn't
respond fast enough even when it was impossible to do what they asked.
Master Heyerdahl had once told Jensen that booze was a liberator, that it freed
men of their inhibitions. That under the influence they revealed their true
selves and betrayed their deepest hopes and fears. And because of that, they
hated anyone who saw them like that. So they jumped on the chance to forget, to
ignore what they'd said, done, because it was easier than accepting what had
happened.
Even something as silly as ordering a meal in the middle of the night. A meal
that would go cold and then when you threw it out, you'd get punished for
wasting food or worse, stealing.
Or those times when a Master said he was lonely. When he begged you to stay,
when he held on to you to cuddle, demanding your company under their hot sweaty
flesh. And no matter how much you tried to leave, they wouldn't let you go.
Until morning, when they saw just what they'd shared their bed with. And then
it was the slave who got punished for overstaying their welcome.
Jensen had never been drunk, slaves weren’t allowed any kind of behavior
altering substances. It didn't matter if it was alcohol, coffee or drugs. Even
most forms of medication were forbidden for slaves. But even if he could take
any of them, he didn’t think he’d want to. Well, except for coffee. Coffee was
a weakness of his. It shouldn't be, and he knew better than to touch it when
his Master could find out. But sometimes, when he had the chance, and his
Master left a cup out that would be thrown out otherwise, Jensen couldn't
ignore the temptation. The scent of it had always interested him, and then
Master Jolly had made him drink a cup. It had become a rare treat when he'd
done something good. Master Jolly said he enjoyed the way Jensen looked when he
got the taste.
Master Jolly said that it was like watching him get fucked, when the one
fucking him hit his prostate just right. Jensen wished he could deny it, but
Master Jolly hadn't let him. He'd said that no matter how smart Jensen might
be, his owner still knew better. And to prove it, he had enjoyed putting Jensen
in front of a mirror. First he'd made him drink a cup of coffee and then with
his mouth and lips still warm from the beverage he would make Jensen give him a
blow job, forcing Jensen to look at his own face during both. And then he did
it over and over again until Jensen admitted what a silly slave he was for
denying that his Master had been right all along. Every day after that Master
Jolly would fuck him up against the mirror, making him watch his Master’s face
as he slammed into Jensen. Just to let Jensen know what his ass did to his
Master’s self control.
"You should be proud of that ass," Master Jolly had said, "It's a work of art.
It's the reason I bought you, the reason you're here, in this lab, in this
building. If it weren't for that ass, it wouldn't matter how brilliant you are,
I wouldn't have seen you. No one would have. Do you understand that, my little
Brain?"
Jensen had said he had, and then the Master had fucked him again until he
believed that Jensen understood. Master Jolly never let him get above his
station, never let him think he was anything more than he was. It had saved his
life a dozen times over in the years past and he was grateful. Even as he
flinched at the memory of all the floggings he'd gotten to burn the lessons in
his mind. He was grateful, because his Master had cared enough to teach him. He
missed his Master, still.
And there was no way that the man who’d abandoned his cohorts was him, was
there? Wouldn’t he have taken Jensen, if it had really been Master Jolly?
He got up and moved as quietly as he could manage to the supply closet. He
crept through the darkness, using the lenses on his eyes to light his way.
Nobody stopped him or saw him as he opened the door and looked down on his two
prisoners. They were coming to. He waited for them to do so.
 
***** Chapter 8 *****
 [ photo 02_divider-j_zps2102f953.png]
Jared opened his eyes, barely an hour after he’d closed them. He’d never been a
deep sleeper. Back when he was a kid it would drive his mom insane that he just
wouldn’t stay in bed. She’d put him down, and an hour later he’d come back
down, ready to play. He learned to take a toy to bed with him, just so he
wouldn’t have to see that look on her face.
When his powers were revealed, it was almost a relief to her to know there was
a reason for it. And now the few times that Jared went home, he’d sleep on the
couch to keep from waking up the others. His Mom had long since gotten used to
Jared going out in the middle of the night to patrol, and by now even the cops
of his hometown knew him by name, well his code name at least, and greeted him
with smiles when he dropped off offenders or evidence.
His body was still aching, but that was normal. He wouldn’t recover fully until
he started moving again. It made sense, or so the science department of the
bureau kept telling him. His body needed to create energy to function properly,
and where others would have their energy replenished through rest, Jared’s body
needed to move in order to be able to absorb the dynamic motion that moving
provided.
So although he would sleep for about an hour, two at most on a regular day,
when he was sick, that time got cut in half and he’d only get annoyed if he
stayed down for any longer than that. The only problem was that even though his
body was ready to move, his mind… well, it wasn’t as ready. Because for all his
differences, he was still human, mentally, and no matter how tense his body got
at being forced to stay down, his mind was still off in a daze and half asleep.
It helped when he had someone lying down next to him. Someone to hold on to, to
provide him with body heat or the motion of their blood pumping under their
skin. It’s why most of the times when Jared had to recover like this, Adrian
wouldn’t just get him undressed and put him to bed. He’d also lie down next to
him and hold him until Jared’s mind was ready to get out of bed. It was like a
living, breathing security blanket.
If it weren’t for Misha reminding him over and over that Adrian wasn’t a
companion slave, and that others might have need of him during the night, Jared
would never let him sleep in his own bed.
Waking up alone, Jared trembled in the cold. He reached out for Adrian, but the
slave wasn’t there this time. He touched out again and stared at the wall,
seeing Jensen, taking a moment to remember who the young slave was and
wondering why he was sitting on the floor instead of sharing the bed with him.
Jared was still too out of it to sit up and tell Jensen to join him when he
realized what that would sound like to the slave. Sometimes he was stupid.
Would Jensen think he wanted to have sex? Maybe Jensen wasn’t gay. Sure most
slaves didn’t care about gender, but who said that Jensen was like that? He was
about to apologize and explain himself when he noticed Jensen getting up from
the floor. Jared tried to tell Jensen to stop, but his mouth wasn’t working
yet.
Before Jared could say a word and hint that he was awake, Jensen was leaving
the room, off to the hall. Jared took a few deep breaths and forced himself to
sit up. He was still wearing the same outfit he’d had on before he’d dropped
down on his pillow, the sheets still made underneath him. It was his own fault,
it wasn’t like Jensen knew he was supposed to help Jared undress. Jared had
seen slaves beaten for far less than taking leniencies like that with their
owners’ bodies.
Jared didn’t manage to get on his feet, his mind still too wobbly to make
contact with the floor as he floated through the walls, moving into UV light
and becoming as good as invisible. In this form he didn’t really need light to
see in the dark, so it took him a while to realize that Jensen hadn’t turned
the lights on either. The slave seemed wary, looking behind him for anyone who
might catch him out and about, but he didn’t spot Jared.
Jared was too curious to call Jensen out on what he was doing, remembering all
the times he’d followed Adrian like this, back when he was a kid. Adrian was a
good slave, most of the time, but like any slave, he had his weaknesses and
Adrian’s was candy. He would keep treats hidden away all over the building.
Jared remembered the day Adrian had caught Jared following him. The slave’s
eyes had gone wide open, his body almost glowing its heat in fear. Jared had
shushed him and the two of them ended up sharing some of Adrian’s stash. Jared
had never told anyone, knowing that Adrian would be punished for his weakness.
But it had been Jared and Adrian’s secret and Jared had loved the trust Adrian
showed him after that. Well, that and the extra snacks that Adrian would sneak
him in between meals.
Jared wanted to tell Jensen that everything was going to be fine. He figured
that maybe Jensen wanted a snack, something to drink. Hell, maybe he just
wanted to go to bed himself. And if he did, Jared was fine with that. It’s not
like he’d meant for Jensen to be uncomfortable while he was in the building.
Only Jensen didn’t head towards the kitchen, or towards Adrian’s room. Instead
he moved up to the hallway near Trigger’s apartment, looked back one last time
and opened a broom closet that should have been locked. Even Adrian couldn’t
open it without permission. Some of the toilet drain products could be
dangerous and were forbidden to be used by slaves without supervision.
It was silly, because Jared knew Adrian was all too capable of getting whatever
he needed and not harming himself, but the law was the law.
“And a good morning to you,” he heard Jensen say. For a second Jared wondered
to whom Jensen was talking.
“Oh let me guess, your Master didn’t think it worth his time to come look in on
us himself.” It sounded way too much like a certain supervillain he didn’t want
to name, but it couldn’t be, right?
“Sorry to tell you, miss Sugar, but my Master is not aware you are here. And
neither are the heroes I’m currently in custody of.”
Jared stood there, his mouth wide open.
“Whose property are you, boy?” She seemed almost scared. “You realize that if
the heroes find out you have powers, they’ll hand you over to the bureau in a
heartbeat.”
Powers, fuck, Jensen had powers. Slaves couldn’t deal with powers, their minds
couldn’t handle it. Which is why they were given a mercy kill when found early
enough, before they could become a risk.
“My … Master is Jeffrey Dean Morgan,” Jensen answered. “And for some reason,
the heroes think he’s the Brain.” He seemed to respond to something Jared
couldn’t see. Jared moved through the walls, trying to see what was going on
and hoping none of them would spot him.
Sugar was hanging tight in some kind of cuffs, Plastic was still unconscious,
his body hung lax, his face downwards.
“But I’m sure you know as well as I do, that he isn’t.”
Sugar stared at Jensen, looking him up and down. “Because you’re the Brain,”
she whispered. “A slave, fuck. The boss was right. You’re a fucking slave and
no one ever figured it out.”
Jensen took a bow, a smirk on his lips.
Jared gasped in shock, for a moment unable to hide his disbelief. He’d been too
loud, and both Sugar and Jensen stared his way. Jensen aimed his hand at Jared,
and for a moment Jared wondered what that was going to do, when something that
felt like an electric shock coursed through him, forcing him to materialize
within seconds.
Jensen’s eyes went wide open.
“Kill him!” Sugar screamed. “Kill him, before he turns us both in.” But Jensen
just stood there, biting his lip, staring at him as if it were all over.
And then Jared remembered, Jensen telling him that he’d seen the Brain, that
the Brain was his age. Finding Jensen in the room right next to the Brain’s
lab.
By all rights, Jensen should kill him, make it look like Sugar took him out.
But instead the slave just stood there, slowly raising his hand but not doing
anything. He looked scared, but Jared didn’t know why. He had all the power.
Jared was still recovering from the fight earlier and with the added hit….
Jared did the only thing he could think of.
“Kneel,” Jared said, realizing all too well how stupid that sounded as a final
word. Not really expecting anything but laughter in response.
What he didn’t expect was for Jensen to obey.
 
 [ photo 02_divider-je_zps60aaa00d.png]
 
“Kneel, boy,” his Master had said back then.
Jensen had obeyed, knelt down on the floor, ignoring the feel of the shards of
glass spread out on the floor. He could feel his knees start bleeding as the
edges cut into his flesh.
“Kneel, and wait. Keep your head up and listen.”
A tape started playing, talking about molecular biology. Playing along with a
video projected in front of him. It was the panel on genetics in relation to
super-biology that he’d begged Master Jolly to be allowed to attend. Master
Jolly had refused, said a slave had no place amongst free men.
Jensen’s eyes filled with tears, his heart speeding up in happiness as he
realized that his Master had been kind enough to allow him a recording of the
panel so that he could listen to the full explanation of doctor Morgan’s essay
on the connections between biology and nano technology.
Compared to this rare gift, the pain was meaningless, he was so focused on the
new information that he’d almost forgotten about the blood seeping out of his
body, the blood loss slowly making him drop off. When his Master came back an
hour later, Jensen had been too weak to thank him. But the Master had
understood. He’d covered Jensen’s legs with a salve that would help his legs
recover without scars and he even allowed him to listen to the remainder of the
lecture while in bed.
And when the Master did fuck him, Jensen had worshipped his body, like that of
a beneficent god.
“You’re a good boy, Jensen. Stay a good little toy like this, and one day,
you’ll be the first to sit at my feet, while I rule the world.”
“Kneel,” Thunder said in the here and now.
 
 [ photo 02_divider-j_zps2102f953.png]
 
 
Jared just stood there, staring down at what was considered the number one most
dangerous supervillain in the world. The Brain wasn’t supposed to be a killer,
but then with his technology, there was no way that they would know if he were.
Jensen bowed his head. It could be a trap, lure Jared closer, attack him when
his guard was down. But instead Jared could walk straight up to him, grab his
chin and force the slave to look up. Jensen’s eyes were closed, his face tense.
“Good boy,” Jared whispered as he let go of his grip and stroked over the
slave’s cheek.
Then he turned to Sugar. “What else did your boss know? Did he tell you why
he’s trying to frame Morgan?” Because he was now more sure than ever that
Morgan had been framed. It was the only possible answer. He tried to think of
the older man, who drank his tea and read his poetry to his slave, and wondered
why someone would hate the man this much.
Sugar tried to pull back, kicking at Jared to keep him from touching her. But
whatever the cuffs did, keeping her powers down seemed to be one of their
functions.
“Answer me!” he shouted.
She just laughed in his face. “Why would you care?” she spat out. “It’s not
like your boss is going to let Morgan go. He’d never risk the humiliation of
having it known that the one villain they could never take down is nothing more
than a mere slave.”
And it hit him like a hammer just how right she was. Bourne would never let the
truth get out. He’d sooner kill Jensen and have Morgan arrested for the Brain’s
crimes than admit that a slave had made fools of them all. And he wouldn’t even
feel guilty about it. An owner was responsible for his slave’s actions, whether
legal or illegal. It didn’t matter that he was innocent, that chances were, he
never even knew just who he’d bought. Never mind how smart the slave was. All
that mattered was that he’d been stupid enough to let a slave spin the wool
over his eyes. For a moment Jared was pissed off with Jensen for doing that to
an innocent man.
But then he realized it wasn’t Jensen’s fault. The boy was sick, he was a
slave, dealing with some kind of technopathy or whatever it was that made him
capable of creating the kind of technology he did. His powers were messing with
his mind, screwing up the submissive brain chemistry inside of his head. An
animal unable to deal with the gift he’d been given. A slave like Jensen was to
be pitied, not hated.
And then Plastic started waking up, lifted his face, his unmasked face. And
Jared found himself staring at another slave mark.
 
 [ photo 02_divider-je_zps60aaa00d.png]
 
Jensen knew he should kill Thunder. It was the only way he’d get out of here
alive. It was the smart thing to do. Killing Thunder would save both him and
Plastic. If he didn’t, Thunder would turn them both in to the bureau and they’d
spend the remainder of their short lives under torture.
He should do it.
But Jensen couldn’t. Not just because Thunder had been kind. Not just because
Thunder was a free man, and no slave should ever harm a free man. He couldn’t
do it, because killing someone, anyone, would be wrong and the very idea of
taking a life went against the core of his being. It was the one thing even
Master Jolly had never asked of him. The one thing Master Jolly had said he
should never do. “To kill turns a man into a god, ”he’d say, “and no slave has
that privilege.”
Jensen shivered, and the nanites in his bloodstream charged up in response to
the need as he sat on his knees, staring up at Thunder. Jensen knew that his
only other choice was to knock out the hero, get him down, take Sugar and
Plastic and make a run for it. He wasn’t sure though if Sugar’s boss would take
him in, the way he had Plastic. Taking in a runaway was grounds for slavery, or
death if you were superhuman.
Jensen found himself incapable of doing even that.
It was one thing to take down a random free man. But Jared had put himself
forward as Jensen’s Master. His voice held the authority of an owner. It might
just be temporary until Master Morgan returned, but that still didn’t stop the
association in Jensen’s mind.
He was smarter than this. But all he could think of was his commands.
Sit, stand, kneel, down, up, obey, don’t think, just do as your told, by now
his body responded to the words without a conscious thought. Like a Master
program taking over his system and leading it in whatever direction the new
programmer wanted it to.
He could fight it, the same way he could fight a hacker trying to break into
his system, but the child inside of him that remembered all the training and
all the praise he’d been given, kept him from wanting to fight. And every
moment of thinking for himself, of knowing he could think for himself, felt
like a virus creeping up on the good slave he was supposed to be.
As a result, he just froze.
He shivered.
He sat there, staring at the scene, almost as if he weren’t there, as if he
were back on his knees, back on that glass, watching a lecture and getting
taught what he needed to know, both as a scientist in training, and as a slave.
For someone like him, this knowledge was hard won.
“What does your boss want with Morgan?” Thunder demanded a second time. A
lesser hero would have tried to use his powers to intimidate the already
captured bad guys. But not Thunder, he didn’t need to, because in that moment
he went from looking like the goofball he usually did, to the six foot five
powerhouse he was. Jensen responded to it almost as much as Sugar did.
He could see it in the little gasp that Sugar let out, in the look in Sugar’s
eyes as they kept darting between Thunder and Plastic. The tremble in her
voice.
“Please, let him go.” She was begging, not for herself, but for her partner.
For the slave she’d teamed up with. Whom she, as far as Jensen knew, had always
strangely treated as an equal. Even though she’d known what he was. He, who now
looked at her, desperately trying to stop her from talking, trying to save her
as much as she was him. Jensen wished he had a direct link to the cuffs,
anything to get Plastic out of here, but he didn’t. It was something to work
on, his mind set, if he got out of here, if ….
“Who is your boss, Sugar, and what does he want with Morgan?!”
“It’s not about Morgan!” she screamed, her eyes wide open in shock at her own
truth. “Nobody gives a fuck about Morgan. The Jolly Roger just wants the Brain
back at his side. He wants Jensen. He wants Morgan to hand over ownership.”
No. Jensen was about to get up, but Thunder pushed him down before he could do
so. The word didn’t even need to be said.
Master Jolly.
Master Jolly was alive and he was finally coming back for him.
For a moment he considered just taking Thunder down right then and there, pull
Sugar and Plastic out of their cuffs and allow them to take him to his true
Master.
Master Jolly was alive?
“The boss took Morgan. We didn’t think that the heroes would go after him so
quickly. You were supposed to investigate him for a while, long enough for us
to hold it over Morgan and pressure him into selling his slave. Once he did, we
were going to let him go.”
“Just in time for us to arrest him,” Thunder muttered. He seemed just as
stunned as Jensen. “The Jolly Roger is dead, he died ten years ago. His body
and soul were destroyed.“
Jensen shivered, trying to think of the ritual. It was a slave’s biggest fear,
punishment even after death, that even the afterlife would be denied to them.
“He’s got the name, the suit, and Professor Heyerdahl vouches for him,“ Plastic
said. “He says the DNA scans matched.”
Jensen’s heart hammered beneath his chest. He kept quiet, his mind going a
million miles an hour, flinging in between decisions with the speed of light.
Sugar’s foot reached out to Plastic’s, seeking comfort in touch. She was tough,
badass, she wasn’t supposed to be close to tears at the thought of what might
happen to Plastic once the Bureau got their hands on him.
Thunder was ignoring her. He seemed to be as much in thought as Jensen was and
the silence only made things worse. The chains rattled as Sugar tried to get
loose again, failing.
“Just try it. “Thunder threatened, “I’ll have you over in one of our real cells
before you can take another breath.
“Please,” She begged. It sounded wrong, coming from her. “I’ll tell you
whatever you want to know. Just let Aldis go. Please, I’m begging you. You
can’t let the bureau get their hands on him, you don’t know what they’ll do to
him.”
Thunder’s eyes shifted in between Plastic and Sugar, ignoring Jensen. They
wanted him. They had his Master, Master Morgan, and there was Master Jolly. His
Master needed him. But he couldn’t, he….
How could he know which Master he was supposed to serve?
“I want his name, his real name.”
“I told you, it’s the Jolly Roger!”
Jensen acted without thinking, knocking down Thunder. He started
hyperventilating right after, dry heaving right then and there at the very idea
of having harmed a free man.
“Master Jolly’s dead.” he whispered. “I saw… he can’t be alive. Can he?”
He still wasn’t thinking when he released Plastic and Sugar. He didn’t even
care when she hithim, breaking his lip as she slapped him in the face.
“Can you… were you telling the truth?” He couldn’t stop the hope. His Master,
his true Master, the one he’d missed for so long. The one question he didn’t
say out loud, ‘Why didn’t he come for me?’ warring with the truth of what
Bourne had said before, that no one went through that much effort for a slave,
not even a far too smart one like Jensen.
She didn’t answer his question, just pulled Plastic over her shoulder,
cautiously as not to hurt him more. When she turned back, she seemed about
ready to throw another blast at Thunder but Jensen moved in front of him.
“You want him to live?” Jensen nodded. “I’ll give you his life, for Aldis’s.”
Jensen knew what she was saying, she felt she owed him a debt. And Sugar always
repaid her debts.
She sounded almost sad when she spoke again. “We’ll be back for you,” she
whispered. “When you’re ready for it.” He didn’t move as she left, just stood
there, wondering, hoping, fearing. Master Thunder was waking up already, Jensen
knelt down.
Master Jolly, alive.
He wondered if he’d still be alive when his Master came for him, praying that
Master Morgan was alright.
***** Chapter 9 *****
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Jared sat still on his chair, his fingers playing with a piece of paper,
folding and unfolding it over and over again as he stared at the wall, green
eyes marching through his brain on a never-ending loop.
By all rights, Jensen should be locked up in one of the cells in the basement.
Jared should have used his communicator, informed Bourne, and the Bureau. He
should be celebrating now while waiting for further orders as he sat back for
the Bureau to come solve their little problem.
Hell, he should be proud of himself. He’d captured the Brain.
Him, Jared Padalecki, Thunder, the one everyone seemed to think was nothing
more than the muscle of the team. The guy they called in for added power and
then sent back to the reserves because he was just an immature brat that wasn’t
quite ready for the major leagues.
And this was the Brain they were talking about. Jared aimed a finger at the
television screen, using the correct wavelength to start up the news he’d
recorded. The laundry list of crimes the Brain was thought to be responsible
for. Thefts, robberies, murders. He tried to imagine Jensen grinning as he took
out the driver of a slave transport, stealing all the slaves on board and
dropping them off at the black market where they wouldn’t even have what little
protection that the legal market provided to slaves. He tried to imagine
Jensen’s hand on the button as a mech killed a senator right before he wrote a
law that would change the fate of millions and save them from poverty and their
children from potential slavery.
But no matter how much he tried, the image just wouldn’t match.
Oh he could see Jensen’s smirk as he robbed a bank, outsmarting the authorities
time and time again. And he could see Jensen’s mind at work as he planned the
theft of million dollar artifacts from the Met. But the idea of that same boy
who’d stared at him in fear, that same boy frozen in indecision, kneeling
rather than hurting a man that he know would, should arrest him, to think of
that boy intentionally harming another living being felt impossible.
Jared knew that Misha would be proud of him. He’d done what no one thought was
imaginable. He’d unmasked the Brain. And sure, it was a bit humiliating that
said long running supervillain was a slave. But then again, what better hiding
space for one of the most dangerous men in the world, than behind a slave mark?
He should have been proud, even if he had woken up in the closet, taken out for
the second time that day. The cuffs were empty and rolled up against the wall
while the bad guys were gone. He was surprised to find out he wasn’t alone, to
see Jensen kneeling by his side, shiny lights playing along the skin of the
slave’s hands. Jensen didn’t look at him, his head was bent down, hands quickly
pushed behind his back the second he noticed that Jared was awake.
Waiting. Expecting Jared to decide his fate, the slight tremble in his back the
only sign of what Jensen expected Jared’s decision to be.
Even knowing the truth, the slave had looked helpless. It was a lie, Jared knew
that better than anyone, but it was a lie that had wormed its way into the
fertile earth of his heart, making him unable to treat the slave as he should
have done.
This would be so much easier if Jensen had just attacked him, or made a run for
it. Then he could have done what… he wasn’t sure what he would have done. He
could have hunted him down, full in righteous indignation. They could have had
some big fight spread across several blocks with a grandiose finale that a
villain like the Brain deserved. With Jensen and him facing off one on one
leaving Jared no other choice but to kill him.
To kill him, destroy his body and with it all the evidence of what Jensen had
been.
It would make him a hero, the one who’d taken out the Brain.
The very notion of it made him sick.
Even in his worst imagination Jared quite simply couldn’t imagine himself
killing another living being. Even a slave deserved a chance to surrender, a
trial, a chance somehow to tell their side of the story.
Jared had written down the list of what he should do. Tell Bourne, call the
Bureau, inform them of the truth, wait for them to pick up Jensen and inform
them that Plastic was a runaway slave. But as he wrote those words, he
remembered the fear in Sugar’s eyes, making him scratch them through until
nothing was left but a black stain. He couldn’t help but see that young boy
he’d first met in the Jolly Roger’s lair, the man who was now making him bacon
and eggs, kept in Jared’s line of sight. Part of him knew that Jensen wouldn’t
make a run for it. Even now, Jensen was the good slave. And Jared didn’t
understand why.
If Jensen had run, this would have been cut and dry, hero and villain. But
Jensen had stayed, had looked after him. Making him Jared’s responsibility.
Thoughts rang through his mind, and he finally just scrunched up the paper and
threw it in the trash. A perfect hole in one while Jared was stuck in place.
Jensen put the plate in front of him, bowed and backed off, cleaning up the
mess he’d made preparing Jared his breakfast. Flinching when Jared caught him
staring. He should be scared, guilty… upset. It just made Jared want to pull
him close, hug him and pat him on the back before telling him to bend over for
discipline. Mostly it made him disappointed, and proud at the same time.
But the longer Jared stayed calm, the only sound the occasional tap of his
utensils on the plate, the more Jensen looked like he was about to break apart.
The slave stood still, not even risking to kneel, waiting. Waiting, lost.
Jared only had to look at his empty cup of coffee for Jensen to almost fly up
to the machine.
“So when did your powers start up?”
It was the only thing he could think of saying. One of those things that was
about as casual a question amongst the heroes he’d grown up with as it would be
to talk about the weather.
Jensen just stared up at him, a stunned look in his eyes, his hand slightly
shaking as he poured Jared a cup of coffee, adding an entire spoonful of sugar.
Jared almost felt inclined to grab the poor slave’s hand and help him before
Jensen accidentally poured some coffee over him and got himself in real
trouble.
And it was then that Jared realized that whatever he was going to do, he
wouldn’t betray the poor boy. Jensen seemed in control enough, he just needed
someone strong enough to hold his leash and keep him off the criminal path.
Jared knew he could do that much. He just needed the money to buy himself a
companion. It wouldn’t even seem strange, Misha kept telling him to get his own
slave whenever he hogged Adrian.
“I don’t have powers, ser.” Jensen’s answer came out of nowhere and it took
Jared a moment to remember his earlier question.
Jared rolled his eyes. “Bullshit,” he said. Just because he wasn’t going to
turn Jensen in, didn’t mean he’d go easy on the slave. And one thing his mother
had always insisted on was that you couldn’t let a slave get away with lying to
you.
Jensen looked almost hurt at the accusation, as he should be, but there wasn’t
any guilt there, just offense as Jensen cringed, pulling taut as if remembering
previous punishments.
“You’re some kind of technopath, right?” Jared said instead, waiting for Jensen
to jump in, but the slave didn’t. “That’s how you were able to create the kind
of mechs you built?”
It was a reasonable assumption. Jared wasn’t an expert on superpowers. It was
one of the reasons he wasn’t a teacher with the younger kids. But Jensen shook
his head. Jared wished he could see the slave’s eyes, but Jensen was too scared
to face him.
“No, ser. I do not have powers.” Jensen was trembling. The slave put down the
coffee, moving away from Jared as he pulled a piece of pie out of the fridge
before setting it down in front of Jared. Slaves tried to bribe you, Jared
remembered, they tried to keep their owners happy, tried to get themselves out
of trouble. He shouldn’t fall for it.
But he wasn’t angry. It was a weird realization. He should be pissed,
humiliated. He should be foaming at the mouth at the idea of a slave, a thing,
taking him down that easily. He should be upset that Jensen was lying to him,
had lied to him, twice now. He should have told Jensen to get him a paddle,
bent the slave over the counter, drag down those grey pants and teach Jensen
just how much trouble he was in for pulling that kind of crap on him,
especially considering how much trouble the slave was in as it was. But he
didn’t and then he realized why, because there was no lie. Jensen wasn’t lying,
he really didn’t have any powers. And Jared sat there, in shock. How?
“Then how? If you are the Brain?” He managed to speak the words. Part of him
still doubted it. How could someone as unassuming as Jensen be the Brain? It
wasn’t just that he was a slave, though, really? How the hell could a slave
build the kind of technology that the Brain was capable of? And most of all,
Jensen didn’t feel like a supervillain, not even the slave kind. He was too
quiet, even after the truth about him had been revealed. He wasn’t bragging
about it, nor was he spouting one of those villain monologues about how he’d
fooled the heroes for years.
Instead he was just this sweet little slave letting the people in charge of him
decide what to do with him. Almost as if he’d hand Jared the tools to kill him,
and all Jared would have to do was ask.
He should remember that Jensen wasn’t helpless, that two supervillains, one of
them a runaway slave, were on the loose because of Jensen. He stared at the
news playing behind them, the image of the Carver twins on the auction stand,
the youngest of the twins crying, his brother holding his hand until they were
dragged apart.
The Brain had done that to them. Or had he?
“I was always too smart.”
Jensen’s whispered words were barely audible. Jared turned off the television,
turning his attention back on Jensen.
”The slaves in the nursery kept trying to keep me busy so the overseers
wouldn’t pay too much notice to me. I could speak perfectly before I could hold
my plate, repeat the poems the older slaves would whisper at me before they put
me down to sleep, and help with dinner service while the other kids my age
where still trying to learn how to walk. One of their favorite games was the
quiet game.
They were worried for me, kept trying to keep me busy, teach me how to serve so
I wouldn’t get bored and annoy one of the overseers with one of my endless
questions. They thought the head overseer would have me put down if he thought
I was a threat.”
“How old where you when you were sold?” Jared tried not to think of a little
boy getting taken to the back, a lethal injection put in his veins, his tiny
body put with the organic trash, while the accountant just put him down as a
loss.
Every year hundreds, thousands of slaves had to be put down for one reason or
another. Damaged beyond repair, useless because their bodies were weak or
flawed, broken, used up, young and old. It sent a shiver down Jared’s spine
thinking that Jensen could have been one of them and Jared would have never
even known.
It was bad enough that the law said to do so with any child with powers, but
for overseers to do so to children, just because they were smart, he couldn’t
imagine it. Slaves gossiped, he tried to remember, they made one another
scared, probably for no reason. That had to be it, right?
“I was three,” Jensen answered. Jared tried to imagine a three-year-old Jensen.
Fuck, he tried to imagine anyone buying a three-year-old. A three year old was
practically a baby. Jared remembered pictures of himself at that age, barely
steady on his feet, too clumsy to use anything more than a sippy cup. There’s a
reason most slaves weren’t sold until they were at least six.
“Master Chris was seven when Master Kane bought me, just a few years older than
me. Master Kane wanted him to have a playmate, he figured that buying a slave
that was smaller and younger would make it easier for him to control me.” Well…
Jared could see that. His family was middle class, but he’d heard of more well
off families doing that, buying a playmate who would grow up along with their
children and then serve as said child’s personal slave as they grew older.
“Master Chris let me read his homework. I learned to read that way. I wasn’t
supposed to, but I was too curious. Master Chris didn’t mind. He thought it was
funny that I learned my letters faster than he did.”
“It’d be easier to teach a dog to play Mozart, than to teach a slave how to
read,” the saying went. Jared had heard it all through his life. Hell it’s what
Bourne would say when Jared asked why Adrian had never gone to school.
“That’s….”
“By the time Master Kane got rid of me, I’d been tutoring Master Chris in his
algebra assignments.“
Fuck.
“My second owner didn’t care what I did when he wasn’t using me, long as I
stayed out of his way. So I started reading his books. He was a hydraulics
engineer. It took me a while to understand what was in them.” Jared tried to
remember his older brother’s tech books, and how many of them went over his
head, and he had the benefit of a full formal education and advanced classes.
“How old were you when you left Kane?”
“Eight.” Making his young owner a mere twelve. Not exactly too old to have a
slave playmate, and far too young for a slave to be useful for anything beyond
doing the dishes and serving drinks. Hell, Jared hadn’t even been allowed near
a stove before he was in his late teens, and even then only with an adult’s
supervision. Though that one fire had so not been his fault.
“What did your new Master… use you for?” Jared was almost scared to hear the
answer.
Jensen just shrugged. “The usual, a blow job when he was feeling stressed, a
cockwarmer when he wanted to relax, the occasional fuck. He wasn’t too
demanding.”
Jared slid off his chair, trying not to think of that eight-year-old child,
kneeling in front of a grown man, and finding it normal, acceptable, that a
monster like that would use him for sex.
“You were eight!” The words sounded meaningless to his own ears, filled with
horror as they were.
“Yes?” Just so… matter of fact. As if it were the most normal thing in the
world and he didn’t understand why Jared was even asking. Jared remembered the
pedophile ring they’d taken down a few months back and the horror he’d felt at
some of the video images they’d intercepted. How horrified they’d all been. The
empty looks in those children’s eyes.
He remembered Bourne asking one of those monsters why the sick bastards hadn’t
just bought a slave if that was what they were into. Jared had assumed he’d
meant an adult, but after listening to Jensen, God, if those children had been
slaves, no one would have given a damn.
“My first owner’s father had already put me to use. My second owner got me at a
discount because of it.” Jensen’s answer only made Jared want to throw up.
Where was the law when things like that happened, where were the child rights
activists then.… And he couldn’t help but think that they’d probably be the
first ones suggesting pedophiles just geting themselves slaves so they’d keep
their hands off free children.
“For how long?” He was the one whispering now.
“About two years. Master lost big in a card game, I was one of the possessions
he handed over to pay his debts. I ended up as a kitchen slave for a while.“ It
seemed to be a happy memory. “I always liked working in the kitchen, the older
slaves would teach us younger ones new recipes when they had the chance. It was
nice, you know, cutting up vegetables, kneading dough.“
It was almost comforting to hear memories like that, letting Jared think for a
moment that everything was alright, and then of course Jensen had to continue.
“Every once in a while us younger ones got to keep the security guards busy
when they came in for a snack or a cup of coffee. They never had much time, so
you didn’t have to worry about stretching out a blow job, or them trying to
fuck you. It kept them out of the cook’s way, so she’d reward you after.
Cookies, leftovers from diner, whatever it was, it always tasted better than
the slave nuggets the overseer would give us.”
Adrian had a box like that in the cupboards, for when he was being punished.
Even Bourne never made him eat those for more than a few days. They were bad
for a slave’s health if you let them subsist on them alone. Jared wished he
could go back in time and punish whatever bastard would make children live on
crap like that, and think it was a privilege to be allowed to be raped in
exchange for some actual food.
“And then…”
“Master Salvatore didn’t need five kitchen slaves, and his wife didn’t want a
filthy slave like me seducing her daughters, so I was sold. Master Jolly bought
me a few weeks later.”
Jensen sounded like he was parroting his owner’s words. He could just imagine
it.
“Seducing, right, let me guess, they wanted to rape you, and you were the one
who got blamed?”
“A slave can’t be raped, ser.” Straight out of the book. Jared had heard that
line before. He hadn’t bought it back then either. He pushed away his plate,
his pie barely touched.
Jared was too late to stop Jensen when the slave moved to throw it away. Just
thinking about that little boy, half starved, happy with scraps, made him want
to tell the slave to just finish the food. But Jared was too late, too late to
do anything, to stop anyone. And what could he have done? Beat up a free man
over how he chose to use his property? He’d be the one thrown off the team,
maybe even sent to jail. No matter how much it would be worth it.
“So then the Jolly Roger?” Jared didn’t even want to consider how many owners
there might have been in between the Jolly Roger and now, desperate to speed
through the tale. Jared was almost ashamed of how much he just wanted to get it
over with so he could stop thinking about the horrors that Jensen must have
gone through as a child.
The horrors that other slaves had gone through while he sat in the lap of
luxury, were going through right now.
“He liked the look of my ass,” Jensen said, and of course he did, Jensen had a
nice ass. It was an easy thing to notice. Even if the very thought of using it
was disgusting Jared right now. Most of all, because Jensen wouldn’t see any
problem in it. “At first Master Jolly just used me for that. But then he found
out I was smart. That I could solve math problems that even Dr. Heyerdahl
couldn’t answer.”
Jared had expected the Jolly Roger to be one of the horrible Masters. It would
have made it easier. But from the look in Jensen’s eyes, he wasn’t that lucky.
“And he.…” Jared swallowed the rest of his words.
“He let me learn. He gave me books, a computer, toys to take apart and rebuild.
He gave me a lab, and tools and music. All he wanted me to do was study, use my
mind, solve problems for him and Dr. Heyerdahl. He was thrilled when I started
playing with tech, then nanites.… The more I learned, the more use he had for
me.”
Oh God. “But when I found you, he had you tied to the wall, the skin
practically ripped off your back?”
He remembered how torn up Jensen’s back had been, newer scars overlapping older
ones.
“He was a good Master, he never allowed me to forget what I was. But… he
allowed me to be all I could be. And I was grateful.“
There’d been so much blood, Jensen had barely been able to walk, everything but
his face and his hands bruised and battered.
“Because he didn’t just treat you like a sex toy?”
“I’m a companion, ser. Being a sex toy is part of the job description.” If
Jensen had been any less scared, Jared would say the slave was sassing him.
“Master Jolly just allowed me to use my mind as well. There aren’t many free
men who’d allow that of a slave, ser.”
“And then we took it all away.” And all these years when he’d thought he’d
saved Jensen, he’d just taken him away from the one owner that actually treated
him like a person. No, not a person, he had to remember that. You didn’t beat
the crap out of a person, or even a pet. But at least the Jolly Roger had
allowed Jensen to think, to learn. And to someone like Jensen it didn’t matter
that that still included an endless amount of pain, and suffering, it didn’t
matter that the guy held him down and raped him, that was just par for the
course. No matter how young the slave was. The Jolly Roger was just one in a
long line of people who had abused that little boy because as his owners it had
been their right. But Sheppard, the business man who turned out to be a
monster, was one of the only ones that had actually seen Jensen, and realized
just how much more he could be. Maybe that made him worse. That he could see
the genius behind those eyes and still treat him like that. Not that Jensen
would ever accept that.
Jensen nodded, focused on washing off Jared’s plate, keeping the water flowing
longer than it had to as if he needed something to keep his hands from shaking.
Jared shivered. He wanted to leave, he didn’t want to look at Jensen anymore,
didn’t want to deal with everything the slave had gone through. But how could
he leave the slave alone, especially now?
Jensen was scared, seemed to be begging for Jared to do something, for
something to latch onto.
In the end, Jared took the coward’s way out. He ordered Jensen to clean the
kitchen, the living room and, when he was through with that, to do the windows.
Keep the boy busy, keep him distracted. Jared said he would discipline Jensen
after, let the slave, let Jensen, think about what he’d done wrong and the
punishment that awaited him, keep that overly active mind on menial tasks
instead of on trying to escape or screw with the building or whatever the hell
else the Brain could do to them, could probably still do if Jensen ever felt
inclined.
Jared still didn’t get why he hadn’t.
Instead he took his phone and called a number he wasn’t supposed to have in the
first place.
“Hi Gen, can I ask you something?”
[_photo_02_divider-je_zps60aaa00d.png]
Jensen took his time, making sure every spot was perfect. He didn’t stop for a
second, just took a deep breath as he went to his knees before scrubbing the
cabinet he’d been working on. Adrian had come in once or twice, offering his
help. But Jensen shrugged it off and continued. He just took the nutrition bars
that the older slave offered him, knowing he had to keep his strength up if he
had to prove to Thunder, somehow, that it was worth more to keep him around
than to hand him over to the Bureau. No matter how pointless it was, if he was
going out, then he was going to go out as a good slave.
“I don’t think that Jared meant for you to work yourself to death, kid.” Jensen
stared up at Adrian, forcing himself to slow down as he sipped the water bottle
that Adrian had given him.
“I need to….”
“Jared’s not a monster. I don’t know what you did wrong. But whatever it is, it
isn’t worth breaking yourself over.”
Jensen blushed. He tried not to think of the look in Thunder… Jared’s eyes. The
disappointment when he realized that Jensen wasn’t just a slave, but that he’d
been the one that had been screwing over the heroes for years.
When Jared finally came to check up on him, Jensen’s shirt was drenched. Jensen
was reaching out to the top of the windows, considering if it was worth asking
for a larger step ladder than the one he’d found so far.
Thunder… Jared kept an eye on him, watching Jensen as he finished the final
touches, desperate not to make a mess. He was about ready to head to the next
room when Jared placed one of his large hands on Jensen’s shoulder.
“It’s alright, take a deep breath. And come down.”
Jensen did as he was told. He wanted to fall to his knees, to apologize for not
being finished, but Thunder didn’t even seem to notice. Jensen wanted to beg
the hero not to take him to the Bureau, to please give him a chance. It was all
he’d been thinking of, every image of the bureau’s punishments that he’d ever
been forced to see, every mention of what would await him if he were caught,
every torture and experiment they could and would do to him.
“Please.” It was the only word he could get out.
“I’m not turning you in, Jensen.” Jensen froze.
“I’m going to help you. I’m going to make sure that there won’t be any need for
me to turn you in.” Jensen couldn’t help feeling skeptical but kept his mouth
shut. “You need discipline and I will give it to you.” Jensen barely managed to
hold back from hugging the man’s legs.
“I can’t allow you to continue as you were, Jensen. Not just because robbing
banks is wrong, but because sooner or later someone else is going to catch on
to what you are doing. And they won’t be as understanding. You’re putting
yourself in needless danger and it’s my duty as your guardian to make sure you
don’t endanger yourself and others. God knows you’ve been lucky that no one’s
ever been hurt on one of your real raids.” Jared knew?
“I’ve been looking at all the crimes attributed to the Brain. I noticed a
pattern. There’s the ones with violent actions, using minions and leaving
property damage and a high cost in human lives. And then there are the ones
that are carefully thought out, using mechs and technology in such a way that
not even a single slave was injured. I don’t believe you ever harmed anyone.
And that matters.”
Jensen dared to smile for a second, until he saw the serious look on Jared’s
face.
“But you can’t expect to remain that lucky, Jensen. Accidents happen, people
get hurt no matter how hard you may try to avoid it.” He moved his hand over
Jensen’s hair, gently caressing him. “I understand, you’re only a slave, you’re
not supposed to understand morality. That’s your owner’s responsibility. And
I’m going to make sure that you’ll get taught the difference between right and
wrong.”
“Yes, Master. Please Master.” Jensen fell back on easy terms, Jared just
shushed him. For a moment Jensen expected Jared to push him to his knees, to
order him to take out his cock, and to thank him properly. But Jared never did
so.
“I’m going to punish you. I won’t go easy on you. You need this punishment. You
need this reminder of what you are. Of what it means to be a slave.”
Jensen wished he could say that Jared was wrong, but how could he know? Master
Jolly always did say that he got too smart for his own good, that he started to
think of himself as above his station. Jared probably was right that Jensen
needed the reminder.
So he let himself get pulled over to the punishment area.
There was an adjustable table, with straps at various points of the table.
Jared didn’t bother to use any of them. That would have been too easy. Instead
he ordered Jensen to bend over the table, his stomach laying down over the
metallic surface while Jared picked out the right implement.
“I know you heard Sugar, I know you heard her say that she was working for the
Jolly Roger,” Jared said as he slammed his hand against something that left a
muffled sound of flesh against plastic. Jensen shivered at the thought.
“It doesn’t matter if she was telling the truth or not. The fact is that
whomever they answer to has been trying to get the Brain blamed for the
majority of his sins. And worse than that, he’s been doing anything in his
power to frame Jeffrey Dean Morgan as the Brain. Right now, he’s the one most
likely to have control over Morgan, and if he does, someone has to go save
Morgan before this version of the Jolly Roger realizes that Morgan is useless
to him.”
Before he killed Master Morgan, Jensen translated it. He gasped as a soft slap
of the paddle pulled him back into the present. There was the cloth of his
pants between him and the plastic, but it still hurt.
“I can’t tell my friends, the Squad would be asking me how I know what I do.
They’re going to ask me about you, and I can’t tell them the truth. Bourne
wouldn’t even bother to get the Bureau involved, he’d tear you apart with his
bare hands first.”
Jensen closed his eyes, desperate to hold back that he’d rather be killed than
be sent to the Bureau. He didn’t think that Jared would like that answer.
“And once he’s done that, he won’t bother about Morgan. In his mind casualties
happen.”
“But Master Morgan is innocent!” Jensen spat out, too stunned that anyone would
allow Master Morgan to get hurt, especially after all his Master had done for
him.
“That’s what I meant by accidents, Jensen. Sometimes innocent people get hurt,
no matter how much you try to avoid it. In the eyes of people like Bourne, it
won’t matter that Morgan didn’t know. He’s still responsible for your behavior,
for everything you’ve done while in his possession. It doesn’t matter that you
kept him in the dark. Just that he didn’t stop you.”
And it was on those words that Jared pulled down Jensen’s pants. The man didn’t
count, just let the paddle come down until Jensen let go of his reserve and
screamed out his pain. Jared stopped for a second, leaning over Jensen.
“I’m going to need you for back up, Jensen. Can I trust you to do that?” Jared
whispered the words in Jensen’s ear.
“You’re going to save Master Morgan?”
Jensen had to wonder if he’d lost consciousness somewhere, and was dreaming. Or
if he was already dead and this was his version of heaven. He didn’t care. At
this point he’d do anything to save his owner. If Master Jared planned to let
him do so, then there was nothing to stop him from being the best back up he
could be.
“We are. After I’m finished with you.” Then he pulled Jensen’s shirt over his
head, leaving Jensen’s untouched skin open to the air.
“The first part was to get your attention. Your real punishment starts now.”
Jensen bit his lip, almost scared of what would follow. He didn’t expect the
bucket of cold water poured over him, he shook his head to get rid of some of
the drip on his hair.
“There will be at least seven discipline sessions, each will consist of twenty
swats with the cane.”
“Yes, ser.” Twenty he could handle, but at least?
“These sessions will continue until either the end of this week, or until you
understand the gravity of your error. Do you accept your punishment, boy?”
Jared sounded weird, as if he was copying his elders actions. Jensen recognized
the words from some guidebook for how to handle slaves that he’d read in one of
his previous owners’ libraries. He was pulled back into the moment when a sharp
pain hit his thigh, barely avoiding the bruises forming from the previous part
of the session.
“Yes, ser,” Jensen quickly answered the question.
Then came five harsher swats with the cane, switching from one half of his ass
to the other. Jensen had had worse, but that didn’t mean that Thunder was
holding back. He almost froze when Thunder stopped.
“Do you understand why you’re being punished, boy?”
Oh, the understanding bit. Fuck.
“Because I was a supervillain?” he tried. It just got him another smack.
“Because I should just stick to my owner’s orders?” He screamed at another
unexpected hit, barely able to stop it halfway through.
“No boy. That is not the reason.”
Quickly followed by three more smacks, another pause and then a quick five
more.
“Law abiding people don’t rob banks, boy.” Another swat. “Law abiding people
don’t attack government facilities or steal slaves.” Two more. “And they most
definitely do not humiliate officers of the law or duly deputized superheroes.”
Jensen didn’t get it. Sure, law abiding people didn’t do those things. But
slaves weren’t people. So what did it matter? He was just doing what Master
Jolly had taught him to do, just like he’d been doing what Master Kane taught
him and Master Salvatore and any of the other owners he’d had over the years.
“I need you to obey the law, Jensen. I need you to be good, so I can keep you
from being hurt. I need you to be good, so you won’t endanger yourself. I need
you to be a good boy.”
And for Jared’s sake, Jensen was starting to think that he might be able to do
so.
Jared finally pulled him off the table and up on his lap, rubbing ointment into
his skin that eased the burn of the hits.
“There there, I’m not angry, Jensen. I’m worried. And I can’t have you
disappoint me again.”
Jensen shivered, unable to understand why Jared was doing this, but leaning
into the young hero’s hand. Jared wasn’t his owner, wasn’t his Master. But he
still felt like he was and Jensen couldn’t help but give in to that.
***** Chapter 10 *****
 [ photo 02_divider-j_zps2102f953.png]
 
Jared wasn’t even sure what he was doing. He had to be insane. Taking a slave,
a slave who was a supervillain at that, to go question his usual line of
informants and get information out of them on the location of one Jeffrey Dean
Morgan. And once they did find the man, he would have to convince a guy who was
already held captive in order to make him transfer ownership over said slave,
into handing over ownership of said slave. To Jared that is.
Fuck, this was probably the worst plan ever.
But it’s not like he could just leave Jensen alone in the building at this
point. If he wanted one of the others to keep an eye on the slave, then he’d
have to give them the reason why. Unlike him, they wouldn’t be convinced of
Jensen’s harmlessness. Well, that or they’d mock the hell out of Jared for
falling for a slave’s lies. Right before they either killed Jensen or sent him
over to the Bureau to be ‘tested’. No slave that was tested by the Bureau ever
came back.
Oh God, he was an idiot, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t look
at Jensen and think he deserved to be gone from this world or any other. It
would be easier if he could believe Jensen when Jensen said he understood why
his crimes were wrong. But it was easy to claim understanding when your ass was
red. It was a lot harder to carry on with that understanding once the paddle
was put away and all that was left were lingering bruises to remind the slave
to behave.
It was probably best to keep the paddle at hand that night as well, either that
or just pull Jensen over his knee, get that ass on his lap and color it up a
bit before he pulled Jensen in bed with him. It would be easier to get Misha to
go along with his getting Jensen, if he could come up with a reason why he
needed a companion. And Jared knew he’d sleep better if he had a way to keep an
eye on Jensen during the night.
His mom called it the carrot and the stick system, reward the slave with
privileges like being allowed in Jared’s bed and discipline him when he stepped
out of line. Just so he found it worthwhile to remain a good boy, a good slave,
so that Jared could allow him to continue a normal and most of all worthwhile
slave’s life.
Jared had some money put aside. Enough to buy himself a secondhand state
confiscated companion slave like Jensen who was already getting up in age.
Unlike other household slaves, companion slaves decreased in value the older
they got. And Jensen was just reaching the age at which he’d be affordable on
Jared’s budget. Jared could buy him, get his papers and take care of him. And
Jensen would be happy, even if Jared had to keep him secluded from the rest of
the world to keep him from sliding back into supervillainy.
Jared knew he could be a good Master. Adrian had always liked him, right?
He would give Jensen all the books he could want, he’d even get a library card
to keep the slave’s mind occupied, maybe even a computer, just with child locks
and supervision. He’d need Chad’s help with that. Jensen was way over Jared’s
level.
Maybe he should trust Chad. Chad was probably the only person in the world who
would understand. Or at least the only one who’d keep quiet just because it was
Jared begging him to do so.
Jared could get the apartment that his mom had been nagging him over so she
could come visit without a full security check. He’d have Jensen look after
their place, come home to find dinner prepared for him. And maybe even lend him
out to the city gardens when he wasn’t needed at home. Jensen could get some
sun that way.
Jared could do this… He almost drove his motorcycle into something because he
was too distracted, desperate not to think about Jensen’s hands on his sides as
he clung on to Jared’s back as he’d been ordered to do. The sides of the
slave’s helmet felt harsh at Jared’s back.
Slaves weren’t obligated to wear helmets, but there was no way that Jared was
going to let anyone ride along on the back of his pride and joy without one.
Sure, he could have flown, but not if he wanted to take someone with him. And
from time to time, he enjoyed the physicality of racing through the city over
the paved street, the smell and the feel and the sights, listening to the
voices around him as the city got going. It reminded him why he wanted to be a
hero in the first place.
Jensen felt nice at his back. The slave’s soft breathing against the leather of
his jacket made him harder than he had any right to be. And it’s because Jensen
would just go to his knees and help him out with it, that it was the one thing
he could never ask of the slave.
“Why do you care about Morgan?” he asked, forgetting for a moment that Jensen
might not be able to hear him. He was about to ask again when Jensen answered.
“He’s a kind Master.”
“Kind?” Like the Jolly Roger had been a good Master? It made Jared wonder if
Jensen even knew what kind truly meant. It made him feel guiltier than it
should. Showing kindness to slaves was a weakness, it only allowed them to try
and manipulate you. But didn’t any living being deserve some degree of
kindness?
“I liked serving him. “
“I bet you did. He made it easy, didn’t he? To sneak out and pull crap, to let
you get away with stuff?”
Jensen shifted in place, his muscles tensing up at Jared’s words. “He was kind.
Easy maybe, it scared me sometimes that he could make me forget my place. That
he could ruin me for another Master. But he was kind.” His voice sounded
strained.
Jared couldn’t think of anything to refute that, so instead he focused on the
road.
“Thunder!” Jared shook up and barely avoided the truck that was thrown in front
of him, pushing back and falling over, sliding a few feet further, it was only
through sheer luck that he managed to avoid hitting people on the sideway as he
did so.
People were screaming, running for their life. Jared faded out from under the
bike, flinching a bit as he got up to his feet
“Jensen, duck!” He yelled as he powered up, standing up against their attacker.
He held back from checking to see if Jensen was following orders.
There were two of them, huge robots. The kind used by the gang that had been
terrorizing the city for the past three weeks. For a moment Jared suspected
Jensen, Misha always said he thought the robots belonged to the Brain. But then
several of their deathrays went over him and he realized that they were
attacking Jensen as well.
Jared fired off another blast, splitting the damn thing in half. He was about
to cheer at losing one of his opponents when both halves regenerated, each
forming a smaller just as deadly threat instead. The one on the left threw him
against the ground, kicked him down, and for a moment Jared was too stunned to
turn to light. He would have, he’d been trained by the best, but before he
could do so, his attacker was thrown to the other side of the intersection, the
second one taken down for a second by one of his blasts, only to put Jared face
to face with Sugar, who was about to offer him her hand.
“Well well, what do we got here. A little big boy thinking he’s a man.”
Jared glared at her and shrugged off her help, rolling out of the way of the
next blast. He saw Plastic twisted around Jensen, who seemed to be stuck in a
globe formed by the shapeshifter’s body, protected from the mechs at least.
“Why?” More of a demand than a question, but she ignored him, lashing out at
the mechs in a display of sheer joy and rampage. She looked almost glorious,
covered in dust and dirt as she threw herself at the mechs, no matter how
futile the fight might be.
But no matter how many the three of them destroyed, the damn things kept
coming. Jared knew he could take them out in a blast, but only if he were
willing to take down an entire city block down with them. And he wasn’t willing
to do that, nor did Sugar seem to expect it of him. Jared tried to keep track
of Jensen. The slave somehow managed to avoid all hits, just as he’d gotten
away from Plastic’s protective custody. He didn’t even look dirty. It made
Jared wonder if he had some kind of forcefield protecting him, some field that
brought him luck as well as protection. If anyone deserved the likes of it, it
would be Jensen.
The next time one of the mechs threw Jared against a wall, he was just solid
enough to grab or breathe and immaterial enough to stick halfway through the
wall he’d been literally thrown into. It left Jensen on his own, in the middle
of the fray, Sugar and Plastic both fighting on the sides, too far away from
Jensen to protect him. But the slave barely noticed, he just seemed to be
fiddling with something in his hands. Jared wanted to ask him what the hell he
was doing, to order him to duck, get to cover, but he didn’t get the chance,
too busy fighting for his life and unable to understand what the hell was going
on with Sugar that she was fighting on their side.
Jared was about to make a suicide run at the mechs, to grab hold of them and
carrying them up in space with him for one big blast. When Jensen rose up from
behind the car he’d been using for cover and aimed his hands at the robots,
freezing all of them in their place. Jensen was all scuffed up, his face hidden
behind his helmet, and for a moment Jared was grateful because it meant that
the cops who were heading their way wouldn’t target him.
Instead they had their guns aimed at Sugar, who just grinned, jumped up at
Plastic as the two of them made their escape in an upward gust of wind before
Jared could even think to question them.
“Jensen?” The slave was holding himself up against a burned out car, a casualty
of the fight. Jared pulled him up towards him and helped him stay on his feet,
giving him a second to recover.
“I recognized them,” Jensen whispered, “I built them, ten years ago, for Master
Jolly. He never got the chance to use them. When I saw them on the news, I
thought someone had broken into one of his storage units. I didn’t think…I’m
sorry, ser.”
It was alright, Jared understood what Jensen meant. These same mechs had been
used during a hostage strike a few years ago, a raid on a bus, taking all the
people on it captive. After the city refused to negotiate, all the adults on
the bus had been killed. The children taken, never to be seen again.
Yet another sin to add to this purported Jolly Roger’s scales.
“It’s ok. We’d better get out of here.“ He stared at his bike. It wasn’t too
damaged, but he damn well wanted to get those scorch marks on the seat’s
leather out of the hide of whomever had caused their fall.
He pulled the bike up and sat down, Jensen hesitated.
“Get on….”
“Wait, ser.” And then Jensen knelt beside the bike, something in his hand
buzzing as he held it over the bike, the wheels, steering, seat, then his hand
moved towards the rim, pulling something off before he held it out for Jared to
look at.
“Is this one of the Freedom Squad’s standard trackers?”
“No.” Jared whispered the word. They didn’t use trackers on private vehicles
like his bike. Or at least, they weren’t supposed to. It went against the
member’s privacy. It wasn’t just against regulation, it was illegal on top of
it.
Then Jensen threw the thing on the ground and crushed it underneath his sandal.
Someone had bugged Jared’s bike. Someone had bugged his bike and sent those
robots after him and Jensen. Someone with enough security clearance to get in
the Tower’s garage and bug his bike. The suspicious part of him wondered if
Sugar and Plastic’s presence had something to do with the bug. He still didn’t
understand why they’d come to his and Jensen’s rescue. Sugar had no reason to
think anything but the worst of him.
“We’re leaving, now.”
Jensen didn’t say a word as he hopped on the back. Jared left with scorching
wheels, making his way through the rubble before the cops could ask him to
stop.
Jared hoped that Gen was waiting for them as she’d promised. Because if someone
in their own team had turned against them, then he was in serious trouble. And
Jensen even more so.
Maybe he should have told Misha where he was heading?
 
 [ photo 02_divider-je_zps60aaa00d.png]
 
There was something wrong with destroying something he’d put an effort into
building. Jensen knew it made him a freak, it was just technology, just a
thing. But then again, so was he. An owner could destroy him with the same ease
that he’d destroyed that collection of chips and wiring, without even batting
an eye about it. There was a reason that so many of his old outdated tech was
still out there, still in use, keeping up his selection of hidden lairs around
the city, looking after his teleporting tech, providing him with information.
A more practical man would have replaced them long ago. But Jensen wasn’t a
man, and he had a nostalgic streak a mile wide. Besides, there was nothing
wrong with the mechs that some quick updates couldn’t fix.
The tracker he’d just destroyed had been one of a large set he’d designed for
Master Jolly while fixing some issues that his Master had had with the trackers
he’d been using before that. No wall, steel or distance could keep them from
sending out their location.
And the mechs, God, he still remembered the names he’d given those things
before handing them over to Master Jolly. He’d been so proud of them, the way
they’d obey every command, shift, replicate. Master Jolly had spent the next
few days utterly destroying one of them, and Jensen had been devastated as he’d
knelt down in the ensuing wreckage. He never told anyone their names. He
whispered them now, thinking about the ones he’d just stopped, trying not to
think of what the police would do to them now, now that they were deactivated.
All Jensen had left of them was their memories that he’d downloaded right
before ending their programming.
They hadn’t done anything wrong.
He didn’t understand what Master Jolly wanted, why Master Jolly had gone after
Thunder. Was it because they were out to save Master Morgan? Didn’t Master
Jolly understand that Jensen’s loyalty would always be true to him?
All his Master would have to do was tell Jensen to follow and he would. Master
Jolly never sold him, never gave him away, never said he wanted to get rid of
him, and if he were still alive, Jensen was still his property, no matter who
had guardianship over him until then. He would protect Master Morgan, because
Master Morgan had been kind to him. But inside, a part of his soul would always
belong to the one man who’d truly known him and owned all of him.
Jared seemed worried about something. Jensen wondered if he should point out
all the holes in the Freedom Squad’s security. Let him know just how easy it
was to get in, especially for someone who was marked and chipped. The holes
were so obvious that at times Jensen couldn’t help but wonder if they were left
there on purpose, tempting thieves to break into a trap. He wasn’t too sure if
Thunder would be interested to hear about something like that from a slave.
He held close to the hero, desperate not to fall off the bike. He’d never been
on one before and it was as terrifying as he’d always imagined it would be, yet
exhilarating at the same time. There was a kind of freedom in it, to feel the
wind push back against him, his safety depending solely on how tight he held on
to Jared.
When they finally arrived in some back alley in the worst part of town he
wondered what Jared was doing. But he followed him nonetheless, hoping the hero
actually knew what he was doing. People glared at him the second he took off
his helmet. People in the lower city didn’t like slaves. No, it was better to
say they hated them.
Most of these people were bottom feeders, starving, barely clinging on to their
freedom. The only dignity they had left was that at least they were still free,
that they were people, desperately struggling not to fall down that final step.
It pissed them off when a slave like Jensen was better fed and cared for than
full fledged human beings like themselves.
They wouldn’t damage him, not as long as Jared was around. Not as long as there
was the risk of them getting caught. But their glares and disdain let him know
just what they thought of him. Jensen didn’t scare easily, but he took a step
closer to Jared, hoping for his guardian’s protection, wondering why Jared
would ever want to come here.
He cursed the part of him that berated himself for thinking like that. A slave
should always assume that his owner knew better, but Jensen had seen too many
of his owners screw up to believe in that bit of nonsense, no matter how much
his trainers had tried to ram it in his head.
A woman spit at him as he passed her, and Jensen shivered. Jared seemed to
notice, the look on his face one of quiet rage for a second before he turned on
the smile. “Ma’am,” he said, with the same kind of respect that Jensen could
imagine him showing the mayor’s wife. The woman was taken aback by that and
seemed flustered.
“I was hoping you could point me to level three Marksham?”
“Of course, sir. It’s the third building on the left.“
“Thank you.”
She seemed to hesitate for a moment.
“Sir, you shouldn’t leave a beautiful piece of property like that alone.” The
way she said it made it clear she wasn’t just talking about Jared’s bike.
“No worries, Ma’am, I always leave my property well protected.” And then he put
a hand on Jensen’s shoulder and sent him in the right direction. It sent
shivers down Jensen’s spine whenever Jared touched him like that. As if Jared’s
hand belonged there as much as Master Jolly’s had.
They moved down the street, up to the right building. Jared didn’t even
hesitate to open the door, no matter how filthy it was. The gray walls were
covered in graffiti and looked as if whoever owned the building had given up on
keeping them clean years ago. The elevator had an ‘out of service’ placard
taped to the door that was covered in so much dust that it had to have been
there for years. There was a pile of filth, waste and old newspapers stacked up
beside the garbage cans on both sides of the doorway to what was supposed to be
emergency stairs, and the stairway smelled of a long exposure to vomit and
waste.
Jensen ignored the catcalls following them as they headed up. Several of them
even asked Jared how much he was asking for a go with his slave. The way the
guy smelled, and from the look of his rotten teeth, Jensen prayed that the hero
wouldn’t take them up on it, no matter how much they needed the information it
could get them.
Turns out he didn’t need to worry. The person they were heading towards was
already waiting for them at the top of the stairs.
“Well, hello there, gorgeous.” The words rolled out of the woman’s lips like a
purr and Jared just stopped breathing for a few moments before he looked up at
her. Minx, one of the world’s best cat burglars, a short distance teleporter,
who for the most part worked independently. Jensen had bought her services once
or twice, and she always delivered. Jensen didn’t understand why the way she
looked at Jared bothered him.
Jared shook his head, his hair waving as he did so. If Jensen hadn’t been too
busy ducking out of the way to avoid getting hit by it, he’d almost be
impressed.
“Gen,” the hero sounded happy to see her. It made Jensen dislike the woman even
more. As if something in his heart was screaming that Jared was his. He
squelched it down. That kind of thinking could only get a slave in trouble.
Jensen stayed back while the two greeted one another, happy to stand still and
hold his side after ten floors of stairs. Jared wasn’t even out of breath.
“Damn it, Jay, I told you I would help you, I didn’t say anything about your
asshole.…” She suddenly froze when the light hit Jensen, showing off his
marking. She looked sick, that look quickly replaced with one of pity, before
her face went back to blank.
“You brought a slave, here?” She seemed genuinely shocked and somewhat
horrified, if her glare at Jared was any sign.
Jensen didn’t know what to say or do, so he just stayed in place and kept
quiet.
“I didn’t have a choice.” Jared chuckled, his dimples showing as he did so. It
made Jensen feel oddly protective over the younger man. Which was a very odd
feeling to have over a free man. “My boy Jensen here had a budding career as a
slave slash supervillain. I’m just trying to make sure he’s not getting himself
in trouble without handing him over to the bureau.”
“So you’re what? Playing parole officer? You think you can turn him back into a
proper obedient little toy?” But the way she said it showed that her anger was
aimed at the Bureau, at everything other than Jensen himself. Jensen realized
that she was looking at Jared as if he were a particularly hard headed child
who needed to get his nose pushed into reality.
“I can try.” It was odd to see Jared flustered. Even when dealing with Bourne
and the rest of the team, the young hero had seemed so sure of himself. Gen
though, she broke through all of that crap.
“Jay, I’m telling you this as your friend. You’re an idiot.”
“Look, I know I’m putting you in a tough spot.” But she didn’t let him
continue.
“I get it, he gave you those pretty green eyes and now you don’t want him
tortured to death. Hell, no one deserves what the Bureau would do to him. But,
Jay, he’s got no reason to go on the straight and narrow. Why should he? He’s a
slave, he’ll always be a slave. It won’t matter what he does or doesn’t do. It
won’t matter how good or how bad he is. He’s got no rights, no privileges
beyond those his owners give him. In the eyes of the authorities, he’s not even
a person, just property. Any owner he has could kill him in a second and he’s
been living on borrowed time his entire life.”
She was touching Jared and Jensen had to stop himself from getting in between
them, refusing to show just how much her words were hitting him as well as
Jared.
“They’ll destroy him when they find him, Jay, and don’t be mistaken. They will
discover the truth, and then they’ll tear him apart until they find whatever
little spark that makes him special. No one can live like that their entire
life. It’s why they don’t enslave bad guys like me, because they know, they
know that it won’t stop us, because it would just take away the last reason we
have not to fight to the death rather than get captured. For someone like him…
it wouldn’t matter if he were good, obedient. It wouldn’t matter if he were a
hero or a saint. Just by being what they made him, he’s the biggest threat they
can think of. So why shouldn’t he enjoy screwing over the very society that
screwed him over the second he was born?”
The words hit harder than Jensen expected them to. It was all the things he’d
never wanted to think about, but that always played in the back of his mind.
“I can help him,” Jared said. He sounded so young, naïve even. As if he were a
child that had just been told that there was no Santa.
“Then let him go. I know people in the resistance, abolis. They can get him to
safety. Get him out of the country. The world is changing, Jay. But if you make
the boy stay here, he won’t live to see it.”
“No!”
“Jay, just….”
“He’s the Brain, Gen. I can’t just let the Brain skip off to continue on his
merry way. I won’t let him get killed, but I can’t… I can’t break the law like
that.”
“Him? Seriously?” Gen, Minx, started looking at Jensen, checking him over and
then she broke out laughing. “Oh my God. That’s… I want to see the Yonder’s
face when he finds out the truth. I want to look at his face and see him
crack.“ She seemed almost manic at the thought, almost as if her hate for the
Blue Yonder eclipsed her feelings on Jensen’s state.
“You’re cruel,” Jared stuttered, but she was chuckling, her body shaking with
the emotion. It made her look terrifying, sending shivers down Jensen’s spine
as she placed a kiss on his cheek, her nose sniffing as if she were scenting
him, and he cringed as her claw lingered over his skin.
“I am,” she whispered, purring as she spoke, “but at least I’m beautiful.” Then
she turned on her axis, swished a bit and motioned at them both to follow her.
***** Chapter 11 *****
 [ photo 02_divider-j_zps2102f953.png]
 
Jared cringed as he tried to ignore the lingering stench of Gen’s dingy
apartment, the sounds of the neighbors arguing, and someone’s television at a
way too loud volume somewhere upstairs.
Shadow Valley was one of the worst parts of the city. Hidden behind the stone
skyscrapers of the old city, there was barely any sunlight to be found on the
best of days, and for the most part, cops and heroes avoided the place. Most of
his super battles happened in open areas, in the air or near abandoned
warehouses. And when they did happen in public areas, he was too busy avoiding
getting killed to see how the people here lived.
Gen was offering Jensen a coffee, and the slave seemed confused by the very
idea. It had taken her ordering him to stay put before he stopped trying to
serve her instead. Compared to Gen’s torn jeans and wool sweater, Jensen’s
threadbare shirt and sweatpants that he’d borrowed from Adrian,looked almost
high-class.
“Gen…”
“I don’t know what you want of me, Jay.” She turned back to the coffeepot. “I’m
starting to get why you were so sure that Morgan’s innocent, but if I’d known
where this new gang was hiding out, don’t you think that I would have gone
after them ages ago?”
Jared was about to laugh at the idea of tiny little Gen moving out against the
most dangerous gang in the city on her own. But then he realized she was
serious.
“Gen, no.”
“What, you don’t think I’d let you go in there on your own, do you? With your
luck, in the best case you’d end up as some pin cushion while some machine
slowly drained the power out of you, or worse, dead. And I have no intention to
go tell the Avenging Angel what happened to his favorite little Starburst.”
It almost made Jared feel guilty that he still hadn’t told Misha the truth. But
if he did, Misha would want him to do the right thing. The legal thing at
least, because Jared didn’t think that the right and the legal thing were the
same, not always, and definitely not in this case.
“I can’t….”
“And don’t even think, don’t even consider telling me that it’s too dangerous
for me to get involved.”
“Gen!”
“This Jolly Roger isn’t just a bad guy, Jay. Not like the first one. The first
one, he was violent, he was the ‘I want to conquer the world’ sadistic
psychopath asshole type. But compared to this new guy, he’s almost an
altruist.”
“Gen.…” Jared tried again.
“He doesn’t just take people’s lives, Jared. He takes their hopes, their
dreams, their futures and he does it for the hell of it. He takes children and
enslaves them, not to make a profit, but just to show he can. He steals slaves,
only to sell them into organ trafficking rings, to sadists who just want
someone to make suffer, with not even what little legal and social protections
that slaves are still supposed to have. And that’s saying something,
considering that society already doesn’t give a fuck about anyone unfortunate
enough to carry the mark.”
“I get it.”
“No, Jared, I don’t think you do. I think you need to see it for yourself,
because until you do, you’ll keep on believing this crap that this world we’re
living in is worth fighting for. I want this Jolly Roger to go down, but only
because he’s just the next step in a world that already needs to go.”
Jared wanted to tell her to stop talking, to tell her that she was wrong, that
if she kept going on like this, he’d have no choice but to arrest her for
suspicion of treason against the state, against the natural order. But he
couldn’t bring himself to say the words.
“I’ve got a friend, a good friend. More than a friend really. The things he can
tell you, show you, if they don’t change your mind, then I don’t think you’re
the person I like to think you are.”
“I can’t betray what I stand for, Gen.”
“Then what do you stand for, Jared? You say you stand for helping the helpless,
for protecting the innocent, for doing the right thing? Then come with me, and
witness. Because if you truly stand for those things, then .… you won’t be able
to keep going the way you have.”
“That’s not….”
Jared wished he could curse her, that he could just tell her to fuck off, to
forget it. That he could take Jensen, get his bike, leave and forget all about
her. But he couldn’t. Gen and he had been friends for years. Ever since they
met as kids, and Gen had been this cute as a button junior cat burglar, who’d
distracted and outsmarted him when he’d still been a sidekick. He’d been
sixteen, she was fifteen. Misha had mocked him about it for weeks. And then
he’d told him this story about this assassin he kept running into back when he
was first starting out. It was a risk of the trade he said. Even if, he’d added
more seriously, in the end, he did have to take her in.
She’d sent him a death glare when she was taken to be marked. But it had been
her own fault, her choice to be a criminal. Jared didn’t think he could make
the same choice where Gen was concerned.
So instead he let her take his hand, and followed her into the rabbit hole. He
wasn’t sure if he’d ever come back out.
 
 
 [ photo 02_divider-je_zps60aaa00d.png]
 
 
“So why don’t you run?” Gen asked Jensen.
He was feeling crowded in by the walls of the sewers they’d been following.
Even his nose, used as it was to living amidst unwashed bodies and sleeping
next to slave lavatories, was having a hard time with the stench of the drain
water running at their feet. She had to repeat her words. He just shrugged,
unsure what she expected him to say.
“It’s not like you couldn’t do something about that chip of yours.” And yes, he
could, the chip was trivial technologically. There were literally thousands of
ways to get around it.
“I don’t understand, ser.” he said. He didn’t want to answer her question, even
if he wasn’t sure why.
“You’re a genius. With a mind like yours, you could disable your slavechip, get
some makeup for your mark and go anywhere you want. So why don’t you?”
The very idea of it made him shiver in fear. He was a slave, he was property,
he belonged, without an owner he was nothing, without….
Jared seemed just as struck by the question, and just as curious about the
answer. As if Jensen would please him if he told him. It was a request he
couldn’t refuse.
“A good slave is loyal to their owner, ser.” The standard answer, not too
personal, not too forced. It’s what you were supposed to say, wasn’t it? But
Jared didn’t seem too pleased with it. Jensen hated to see Jared displeased
with him for any reason.
“I’ve seen plenty of good slaves incinerated at the garbage disposal site back
when I used to work there.” Gen said. Her small deceptively frail fingers
worked on one of the metal grids blocking their way, pulling it forward so they
could both duck down and go through. Jensen almost laughed when Jared’s head
smacked against the top, as if he’d overestimated its height. Jensen could just
imagine Jared being smaller, taller than he’d been that first time they met,
but not nearly as huge as he was now, growing into his limbs and constantly
banging his head into things because he kept thinking he was shorter than he
was.
Jared blushed and bowed his head and Jensen felt ashamed for laughing at him.
How dare he call himself a good slave when he found enjoyment at his guardian’s
embarrassment?
“I’ve seen good slaves thrown out and sold off to work in jobs that would get
them killed in a year, when the owner isn’t even kind enough to kill them off
themselves. I’ve seen good slaves beaten, bruised and battered, their backs
torn apart from whips and canes, their children sold and raped.” Jared cringed,
pulling back from her words. Jensen just shrugged. They were slaves, existing
only to be used and discarded, a waste upon this world that should be grateful
to be of any use, praying that their service would earn them a better position
in their next life as they were found worthy in God’s eyes.
“What use does it have to be a good slave, Jensen, when your owner doesn’t
care?”
“A good slave does not question their owner,” Jensen tried. But Gen wouldn’t
let him.
“You were born like this, right?” Jensen tried to interrupt her, but she didn’t
let him. “Haven’t you ever wanted anything more? Freedom. The chance to make
your own decisions?”
“I’m a slave, ser. It’s all I know how to be?” Jensen was almost desperate for
her to accept his truth, to stop talking so she’d stop making Jared
uncomfortable. This stench was bad enough, her talk could only upset Jared.
Owners like him… they didn’t like to be confronted with reality, it made them
feel bad. Made them make foolish mistakes, like listening to abolis and getting
themselves in trouble. The way Jensen had done with Chris.
If Jensen hadn’t been stupid, if he’d served Master Kane happily, not given
Master Chris any reason to be upset, then Jensen could have gone on as Master
Chris’ companion. Master Kane wouldn’t have had to sell him. It was Jensen’s
own fault really. But by the time he realized his error, it had been far too
late.
Master Kane had been right to sell Jensen before he’d infected Master Chris
even more. It was a fool’s errand to care for a slave. Protesting too strongly
against slavery was seen as standing up for Abolition of Slavery. Abolition was
treason and treason had only two possible convictions, death or slavery, not
just for yourself, but for all those close to you. To lead an owner into such a
fate was the worst sin any slave could commit before the eyes of God, and
Jensen had almost done so to Master Chris.
She didn’t stop talking. She was an Aboli, of course she wanted him to rebel,
to ignore all his teachings, to ignore the will of God. To stand up and be
counted as if he were more than he was. To destroy society.
In the end Jensen just sank down, his hands over his ears, desperate to no
longer listen, unable to refuse her, a free woman, but unwilling to keep
listening.
Jared stepped in, moving in between the two of them, ordering Gen to just shut
up as he reached out to Jensen and pulled him into a hug. “I’m a good slave,
ser, I’m a good slave,” Jensen kept repeating.
“Then make me stop, Jay, give me a reason to stop. Give me a reason why slavery
is supposed to be this good thing. Give me a reason why innocent kids like
Jensen deserve the horrors they’re put through. If you want me to stop, make
me. But you know why you can’t. Because you know, in your heart, in your soul
that it’s wrong. All of it. There is no excuse for slavery, Jay, none that
would hold up when you truly think of it. ”
Jensen shivered, unable to move. Unable to fight, resist, unable to stop his
guardian, his Master from comforting him, when it was Jensen who’d done wrong,
who should have just shut her out.
The sound of feet splashing towards them was almost a relief. Jensen was about
to jump up, ready to watch Jared’s back. He was just as startled as Jared to
find themselves surrounded, guns aimed at them from all directions.
“Halt.”
Jensen froze, recognizing something in that tone of voice. He stared up at the
man coming forward through their attackers, looking first at Jared, then Gen,
and finally at Jensen himself.
“Jensen?”
It was Master Chris, wearing the emblem of the abolis. And Jensen broke down
all together.
 
 
 [ photo 02_divider-j_zps2102f953.png]
 
Jared fought the rising urge to scratch the itch he was getting on his hands
due to the power scramblers that the abolis had put on his neck and forearms,
tying his hands together and supposedly making it impossible for a super to use
their abilities. Wearing them felt like he was locked up tight in a coffin with
barely any air to breathe and Jared wanted more than anything else to just run
off, get rid of these chains and burn the bastards that had put them on him to
ashes.
Instead he let them guide him down into the depths of their home while Gen was
arguing with a far too familiar face over the fact that she’d brought Jared
down here to begin with. She hadn’t even allowed the abolis to blindfold him,
which was a pretty stupid thing to do.
All she said was that she’d brought him here to see, and he couldn’t do that
with his eyes covered.
He still couldn’t believe that Gen was actually in touch with the Enforcer
himself.
Oh, he’d known she had aboli ties. Gen was hardly quiet about her alliances.
But someone as infamous as the Enforcer?
The man was a terrorist. Worse than that, he organized raids on slave compounds
and, according to rumors at least, ran an underground railroad leading runaways
to freedom in Canada. He was one of the main reasons for the current ongoing
cold war with America’s closest neighbor and one of the most hated men in the
country.
No one knew his name, all they had was what the abolis called him. The
Enforcer, because he tended to push through any attempt at stopping the
government’s attempt to control the aboli threat wherever it arose. The bastard
was a national level threat.
You had to have a pretty high security clearance to get access to even a
picture of him, mostly to keep the abolis from turning him into a martyr when
the government finally did manage to take him down. But Jared had been in
enough of those meetings to recognize him on sight.
It didn’t seem to matter to Gen that the guy was pissed off at her. She just
grinned and started talking about her most recent heist, as if she was trying
to ease the tension with things that didn’t matter. To be honest the idea that
Gen was in touch with the Enforcer and hadn’t told Jared… was just like her.
And probably one of the reasons he cared for her as he did. Allthough that she
was a thief, she genuinely did care about people.
From the looks of it, Kane, as she’d called him, felt the same way. He hadn’t
stopped her from jumping in his arms and kissing him. He’d given in without too
much of a fight on the blindfold thing and right now he wasn’t killing Jared or
Jensen.
In fact, he’d ordered one of his guards to help Jensen move on with them. Had
shown an extraordinary amount of patience with the slave, refusing to force him
out of the almost catatonic state he’d fallen in upon seeing Kane and kept
looking at him in a way that told Jared that there was more going on between
the two than he’d have guessed.
Jared barely even noticed that the smell around them was starting to improve as
they descended deeper underneath the city. At one point concrete tunnels turned
to natural caves and Jared stared, stunned at the huge cavern that had been
hidden underneath the city. He froze before he was pushed on a metal bridge
that seemed far too fragile to carry them all. To his surprise the thing didn’t
even shake under their footsteps.
No one said anything to him as he stared down on what seemed like a small
village underneath them. Tents and stone slabs built up as houses and people,
hundreds, maybe thousands of people living their lives where nobody would find
them.
Their clothes were either worn and old or obviously hand-made, woven from what
appeared to be wool won from the sheeps kept to the side of the little town.
There were more animals, goats whining and dogs running freely along the
streets. Nobody seemed to care.
“Welcome to Aboli Central, Thunder. I don’t trust you as far as I could throw
you, but for some reason Gen does. And her word means a hell of a lot to me.
Don’t make me regret it.”
Jared stood there with wide open jaw as Kane came up to him and unleashed the
bolts of the restraints. One of the guards tried to stop him, but a quick glare
shut the guy up all too quickly.
Jared didn’t have the heart to tell them that the restraints they’d put on him
weren’t nearly powerful enough to hold back his full powers if he’d really
intended to go.
“I won’t betray Gen,” he said, making a compromise. Because this was too big,
and Gen had known about it. Kane, the little town where people with slave marks
wandered free of collars or ties. If Jared betrayed the abolis, he’d have to
betray Gen as well. And no matter what, he couldn’t bring himself to do that.
Not to her.
Kane looked at him, gave him a nod, and led him further into the town until
they entered a building that was slightly bigger and sturdier than the ones
surrounding it. A few men took Jensen with them. When Jared tried to stop them
they aimed their weapons his way.
It took Gen telling him that Jensen would be fine to stop Jared from tearing
them apart.
“He’s in shock,” she whispered. “This is a hospital. Let them take care of him.
I promise, he’ll still be here when we get back. “
“A hospital?” Jared didn’t understand.
“It’s where they bring the worst cases before the rest of the city takes over
their care.” She moved on, forcing him to follow.
Jared desperately wanted to ask her what she meant when he saw an open door and
stared into a room where a little boy lay in a bed. At first he seemed fine,
and then Jared realized that the boy was missing both legs.
“His name’s Tommy, he’s fourteen. Chris got him and a bunch of others from a
raid on the Maxicorps Mining facility. He got trapped underneath one of their
machines. The company didn’t even bother to try and nurse him back to health.
They were just going to throw him and a bunch of others injured in the accident
into their incinerator. If Chris and the others had been there even half a
minute later, the kid would have been burned alive.”
Jared gulped at the boy who seemed to be smiling as he was talking to the kid
in the bed next to him.
“Her name is Riana. Her owner first got her pregnant when she was eleven. By
the time Chris got to her she was sixteen, and she’d given birth to six of her
owner’s children. All of them were sold into slavery. The bastard didn’t even
bother to try and use birth control. He figured it was a good way to get a
return on his investment. She gave birth two weeks ago, but she’s still unable
to walk.”
She was holding on to a little girl, currently feeding from her breast, the
child’s face unmarked, unlike her mother’s.
Room by room, Gen would describe the people in them. Abolis who’d gotten hurt
in a raid, slaves recovering from a life’s worth of pain, a man whose feet were
burned when his owner had decided to cane the soles of the man’s feet with a
white hot iron, because he believed the slave had been looking at his wife.
Never mind that she was the one ordering him to her bed, it was always the
slave’s fault, no matter what the slave in question did or did not want.
The worst part of it was that none of it was really news to Jared. He’d worked
with Slave Rights organizations in the past. They were doing good work, trying
to build in some regulations to get owners to take more care with their slaves’
safety. But somehow talking about that didn’t feel like it would find fertile
ground here.
What use was it to get an owner fined if they didn’t stop work floor accidents
when it was cheaper to just pay the occasional fine and get a new slave than to
give your workers longer breaks and better machines to work with? After all, if
you had to start treating your slaves like they mattered, then you might as
well hire free men instead.
And really, people hated being told what they could or couldn’t do with their
property. The more regulations you put in, the more the slave owners
association fought back and tried to make it easier and easier to accuse people
of being abolis.
Jared got it. Gen wanted him to be upset about how slaves were treated. But
it’s not like any of that was news to him. He just didn’t see how going up
against the law made things better for anyone.
He was about to tell her that when he heard the sound of children playing. They
came upon a room dressed up in bright colors and filled with laughter. Some of
the kids were playing chase while others were sitting in front of a white
board.
“C is for….” the teacher asked
“Car!” one of the kids yelled.
“No, C is for clown,” another said.
“Who cares about clowns, c is for cigar,” a third contested.
“Anyone else have one? Toby?” She aimed that question at a little boy with a
dark mop of hair who sat curled up on the side, but didn’t answer. “Toby? It’s
ok, if you don’t know.”
“C is for…for… C is for chains?” he asked, lifting his head, showing the black
slave mark over his eyes.
“Good job, Toby.”
It was only then that Jared took a better look at the other kids. All of them
bore slave marks. Many of them were small, several of them had injuries. But
all of them seemed to love taking part in the class, following their teacher’s
example as she encouraged them to write their letters.
Jared stood stunned. It had been one thing knowing that Jensen could read.
Jensen was a genius. But these were regular slaves.
“The hardest part of teaching the kids is to get them to talk.” Kane sounded
uncharacteristically quiet. “Marcy, their teacher, she says that in her old
school, the hardest part was getting kids to shut up and listen. Here, most of
the job is getting them to speak up. She said that the most rewarding part of
joining us down here was when she found out just how eager these children are
to learn. As if it’s a gift that they’d been denied all their lives.”
Jared gulped.
“All these kids, even if we never get them back above ground, even if they
never manage to arrive in Canada, at least we’ve managed to give them this,
some time to just be kids. And that makes all of it worth it.”
“But what happens when the authorities find out?”
“Then we’ll fight and guard them until the last of us is gone.“
Jared believed him.
“Why did you come here, Padalecki?” Jared turned, ready to attack at the
mention of his name. “I already know it wasn’t to join us. So why risk it?”
“How do you know my name?”
Kane rolled his eyes at that. He didn’t bother to answer the question.
Jared hesitated. “Gen said you know stuff.”
“I do. But what business is that of yours?”
“How much do you know about Jeffrey Dean Morgan?”
That was the first time that Kane actually seemed surprised. He tried to hide
it, but it was enough of a crack in his armor of disdain that Jared continued.
“The Jolly Roger is trying to make it seem like Morgan’s the Brain.”
“And you don’t think he is?”
“I know he isn’t.”
Kane nodded. “That’s why you brought Jensen, isn’t it? Because you didn’t dare
leave a supervillain of his caliber on his own?”
“I didn’t say….”
“I know Jensen, Padalecki. I might not have seen him for over a decade, but I
grew up with him. He was mine once, before he was anyone else’s. I always
thought he was meant for greatness. I just never thought anyone would ever let
him achieve it. I guess I should have known better.”
Kane, Chris Kane, fuck, Jensen’s Master Chris. Jared was stunned when he put
the pieces together.
“I need to find Morgan. I need to know where the Jolly Roger is keeping him, so
we can get him back.”
“Why do you care?” Chris seemed almost amused. “I figured you’d think that
Morgan was nothing more than a negligent slave owner who didn’t bother to keep
track of his property.”
Jared didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t get the chance as someone came
up to him before he could talk, whispering something into Kane’s ear. Kane
seemed genuinely surprised.
“As it happens I do know Morgan. I’ve known Jeff for years. And if this means
what I think it does, then well…finding Morgan just became a million times more
important to me than it ever could be to you.“
“What?”
“Jeff’s one of our primary allies on the outside. He asked for our help with a
project of his own years ago. To help him find two slaves. A woman and her son.
We helped him find the woman. She was given a choice, to go with him, or to
come with us. She picked him.”
Jared still didn’t see the point of it.
“We don’t ever force a slave to leave the safety of their lives, Padalecki. Not
knowing what we are asking of them when doing so. Not when they are safer where
they are, at least. But there was one other person Jeff wanted us to find. He
never had the chance to tell me he found the boy on his own.”
“You mean Jensen.” Jared closed his eyes trying to come to grips with the idea.
“Sometimes owners fall in love with their slaves. It’s a silly thing really.
The slave doesn’t have a choice in it. Most of the time it’s meaningless, like
loving your favorite pet. The slave goes along with it, because well… it’s
better than the alternative. And when that slave then gets pregnant, especially
when the owner is young enough for the slave still to be property of the
parents, the family tries to cover it up.”
“Jeff he’s….”
“My people just tested Jensen’s blood. Apart from a steady stream of nanites
that could revolutionize medicine if the world ever took a slave seriously:
they found something else. His DNA, it’s a near match for Jeff Morgan’s.
They’re father and son, Padalecki. And if I know anything about Jeff Morgan,
now that he’s found his son, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to keep him safe.”
Nothing, meaning that Morgan would betray anyone and anything before he
betrayed his slave. And if the Jolly Roger demanded something in Jensen’s
place, there was no way for Kane to know that the man wouldn’t sell out the
abolis for the sake of keeping the Jolly Roger away from Jensen.
 
 
***** Chapter 12 *****
 [ photo 02_divider-je_zps60aaa00d.png]
“When I grow up, I’ll take you with me,” Chris had whispered. “I’ll have a car
by then. A truck maybe. And we’ll go on a road trip. Just two kids traveling
the country. And maybe further.”
Jensen was lying on Chris’ bed, his eyes up, staring at the ceiling, trying to
imagine the image that Chris was painting.
“We’ll eat bad road food, and I’ll get you those burgers that you liked so much
when Dad got them for me and Steve. I’ll buy you all the sodas you like and
when anyone dares say a word out of line, I’ll beat the crap out of them for
messing with my little brother.”
“Yes, Master Chris.”
Chris sighed. “You’ll never stop saying that, will you.”
“Of course not, ser,” Jensen answered. It didn’t seem to be the answer that
Chris wanted to hear. Jensen wondered what he should do to make up for it. He
hadn’t meant to be bad. But Chris just shrugged as he sat up, his hand moving
through Jensen’s hair.
“Not your fault. None of it is, Jensen. No matter what people tell you.”
Jensen didn’t get it, but then, he wasn’t supposed to. That’s why he was a
slave, wasn’t it, because he didn’t understand things that were obvious to free
men?
“I’m yours too, you know. Whatever my dad does or says, I’m yours as much as
you are mine. That’ll never change.”
Jensen pulled out of the memory as he felt someone stab a needle in his arm.
For a moment he wondered if their trip down the rabbit’s hole had been nothing
but a drugged up dream. Maybe Jared had brought him to the bureau and he’d been
too out of his mind to realize it. His breathing grew harsher, and he noticed
something over his mouth. For a moment he thought he was gagged, then he
noticed the air sipping in through the mask.
The woman apologized to him. It seemed like a strange thing for someone from
the Bureau to do. Her outfit looked strange as well. They didn’t look like
scrubs, just clean and neat, as if someone had grabbed whatever they could find
to be used instead of professional medical clothes. He shivered as she cared
for his arm after taking his blood. He wouldn’t have thought that someone from
the Bureau would bother. He tried to push away the mask, she let him, but told
him to keep it on in case he needed it. He stared up at her, his fingers moving
to the band aid she put on where she’d taken the blood. There was a thin tube
clinging to his skin. He stared up, realizing he was lying down on a table, an
IV stuck in his left arm. The light above him was slightly dazzling, but she
turned it down when she realized his discomfort. His shirt hung loose, the top
buttons opened.
“I’m sorry, we just have to make sure that people aren’t sick before we let
them join the rest of town.”
But he hadn’t planned to join the town, he wanted to say. He didn’t. Instead he
sat up, his feet dangling from the table as she put his blood on a slide and
put it through the scanner. It took him a moment to realize why that might be a
problem. The nanites in his skin reacted before he did, connecting to the lab’s
computers and tracking their progress.
She turned around just as they did so and noticed the nanites lighting up as
glowing lights glimmering underneath his skin. She stared at him, her mouth
wide open.
“What?”
Jensen quickly stopped the nanites’ activity, pushing down his sleeves as if to
hide his skin.
She was comforting him before he could say something. “It’s fine, it’s alright,
you’re safe. We have a few more supers here.” Jensen trembled, about to insist
that he wasn’t a super, but he was unable to get a word out without feeling
like he had to throw up.
She pushed him back down, lifting his feet a bit, his head flat on the table.
“You’re in shock, “ she said as she covered him with a blanket. He stared up at
her. “It’ll help keep you from losing body heat.” His mind went through the
medical names, knowing she was right. He grabbed at the IV.
“It’s safe, it’s just liquids.”
Safe, it seemed like a strange word. Did safety ever really exist for someone
like him? He didn’t think so. She pushed the oxygen mask back on his face. He
hadn’t even realized he’d been hyperventilating.
“Kane said you went catatonic when you saw him. We’re just trying to help,
Jensen. Is it ok if I call you Jensen?”
He shrugged, there was a thin cloth covering the table he was on, keeping him
from feeling the cold leather.
“Where….” he pushed the oxygen mask back down, trying again. “Where’s Master
Thunder?”
She looked at him with a glint of pity.
“Kane is giving him a tour.”
Kane, Master Chris. Master Chris was here, with the abolis. Master Chris was an
aboli and it was all Jensen’s fault. Jensen froze.
“Whatever you’re thinking, Jensen. Have you ever known Kane to do something he
didn’t want to do?”
He stared at her, not understanding.
“We get a lot of slaves here, some of them even had owners who cared enough to
try and set them free. And they all seem scared that it’s their fault that
their owners care more about doing the right thing than about their own safety.
“
Jensen’s eyes closed, trying not to think of all the punishment Master Chris
would get if people knew.
“Kane’s a good man, Jensen. He would have chosen to join our side whether he’d
known you or not. If I had to take a guess, knowing you just sped up the
process, made it easier for him to see the truth.”
“A good slave doesn’t manipulate his owners.” It was a truth he’d had shoved in
his head for as long as Jensen could remember.
“And a good man won’t harm those who can’t defend themselves,” the woman
responded
He hadn’t even realized he’d said the words out loud.
There was no way to know how much time passed between that moment and the next,
when the door opened and Master Chris entered the room. Master Jared was right
behind him, along with Mynx, Gen.
Jensen sat back up, ready to go to his knees if needed.
Master Chris was here, fumbling with his hands as if he were about to reach out
and shake Jensen’s, but wasn’t sure he’d be welcome to do so.
“Jensen, are you ok?” Jared had put his hands on Jensen’s shoulder and looked
him over. Jensen tried to bow down, turn his eyes away. Thunder let him do so,
but he didn’t let go. The woman glared at Jared, but Jared didn’t seem to
notice. Jensen lingered into his large hand, letting the heat of the hero’s
touch anchor him down. Breathing became easier after that.
“I’m sorry, ser, I didn’t mean to….”
“It’s fine. You look a lot better already.” Jensen looked up. “Your lips were
going all blue, and at least your skin doesn’t feel so cold anymore.”
Jensen was ashamed to think that he’d worried these people. It was up to a
slave to make people’s lives easier, not to cause trouble. He wanted to say
this. But Jared didn’t seem to mind.
Master Chris stood next to them, he looked a bit awkward as if he wasn’t sure
what to say.
“Hey Jensen.”
Jensen wondered if he should try and sit up again. But the strange woman had
pushed him down once before. He wasn’t sure how she’d react if he tried to move
again.
“It’s good to see you again.”
Despite everything, Jensen couldn’t help a shy smile as the memories of his
time with Chris grew stronger.
“I’ve been looking for you for a while.”
He had?
“As have several other people. I should have known that if anyone could be the
Brain, it would have been you. If I’d known, I would have contacted you a long
time ago.”
Jensen didn’t understand. He sat up almost unconsciously, both Jared and Master
Chris helped him in doing so.
Nobody seemed to mind, so he pushed down the oxygen mask. He lingered on a
breath.
“But you’re safe now. And as soon as we let your father know that, I’m sure
things will get a lot better from now on.”
It took Jensen a few moments to understand that sentence. His what?
“Turns out that Jeff Morgan isn’t just your owner. He’s your father as well.”
That came from Jared, who seemed to be as confused about it as Jensen was. “The
last slave he owned was your mother. He’d been looking for the both of you ever
since your grandparents sold you and her. They didn’t want the scandal of their
son recognizing a slave as his offspring.”
The word sounded alien to his ears. Free men had fathers, mothers, siblings.
Slaves had Masters and trainers. Slaves might have sires and dams, but that
only mattered to keep inbreeding at bay. They had to keep the livestock healthy
and strong.
Father, it was beyond his understanding, sire was better. But it didn’t mean
anything. Plenty of owners sired get with their slaves, but that didn’t stop
them from marking them as property and selling them off for a quick profit. So
why would it matter that Master Morgan was his sire? Master Morgan who’d been
looking for him, who’d cared to come find him. Master Morgan hadn’t thought it
was worth mentioning, but was that because he was ashamed of Jensen, or ….
“He.… Am I supposed to say something?” he whispered.
No one answered him.
“I’m sorry, ser, I don’t….”
“You don’t have to say anything. It’s a huge thing finding out you’ve got a
father. Hell, I know it would have spooked me.”
But that was different. Jared was a free man. Free men, even the superpowered
kind, had families. Slaves didn’t.
“I’m sorry, Jensen. I shouldn’t have dropped that news on you like that.”
Jensen shivered at the sound of Master Chris’ voice. It still seemed unreal to
have his first Master here, now. Master Chris’ face had aged so much, but those
eyes still looked the same. Still so worried, troubled even. It made Jensen
want to do something funny to get him to stop being sad.
“It’s been a while,” Master Chris said. Jensen shrugged. “I’d ask how you’ve
been, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t like the answer.” His voice sounded lower
than it had when they’d been younger. He was a grown up now. Jensen figured
that would change anyone.
“I don’t know if…. “ Master Chris paused before starting again. “I’m with the
Emancipation movement. The abolis. After Dad, after the bastard who fathered
me, sold you…. It made me look at things, at the world and it sickened me. I
couldn’t bear to be like him, Jensen. Not after what he did to you. I know
you’re probably blaming yourself now, but you shouldn’t. It was my choice to
make.”
Jensen didn’t know what to say.
“I get that you won’t understand this. The brainwashing they give you guys is
pretty intense, but… when we were kids, dad gave you to me, and a big part of
me felt like you were mine to protect. Logically I knew you were a slave, that
I was supposed to see you as property, a toy, no more important than that
baseball bat we used to play in the park with, but… There were kids in my class
who had little brothers, and the way they felt about them, I felt the same way
about you.”
Jensen didn’t want to hear this, but he had to, didn’t he?
“In my eyes, you were my brother, Jensen. It didn’t matter that you had to go
to slave training while I went to school, or that you were only allowed to play
games because it gave me company. All I wanted to do then, all I ever wanted,
was to see a smile on your face. To make my little brother happy and have you
like me. I’m sorry, Jensen. You didn’t deserve what my father did to you, or
any of the others after him.”
There had been times over the years when Jensen looked back at his days with
Master Chris, and he remembered how much he’d looked up to his little owner.
How much he’d loved the boy, and had berated himself for thinking that a free
man would ever have cared about him in return.
It was too much, all of it, Miss Gen’s words, Chris’ claims, both about Morgan
and himself, the way Jared looked at him. He blanked out, anything to keep the
emotions at bay. He barely realized it when Chris pulled him in his arms. It
felt warm, good. Better than the blanket, far better than he deserved.
“It’s alright, little brother. I know you can’t cry yet. I understand.”
Jensen felt scared.
 
 [ photo 02_divider-j_zps2102f953.png]
 
Jared was trying to keep an eye on Jensen without admitting he was doing so. It
was harder than he would have thought it to be. It was weird, he hadn’t planned
to take Jensen on this trip, not once he had Kane and Gen agreeing to go with
them.
But somehow Jensen seemed to politely but surely insist that he was going as
well.
Jared wasn’t fooling himself, he could have refused. He could have told Jensen
to stay behind. He could have even left him with Kane’s people. The abolis
would have taken care of Jensen, gladly at that. And maybe, part of Jared
insisted, that was why he’d given in in the first place. Because he didn’t want
the abolis to take care of his Jensen. Maybe he didn’t want them to convince
Jensen that he’d be better off in Aboli Central, with a chance to be free and
eventually be moved on to Canada and as far away from Jared as they could
possibly get him.
The building they were looking at didn’t look like a supervillain lair. But
then, that was probably the point. Most of the places like that were abandoned
warehouses, dilapidated, trashed. This… this was a shiny pinnacle of modernity,
with mirrorred glass, beautifully polished to reflect the sun. Even from a
distance the lobby looked lush and rich, with chairs that both invited you to
sit in them and made you worry about messing them up.
“That’s the new Jolly Roger’s lair? Seriously?” He couldn’t help but pose the
question even though Kane seemed to be sure. Jared hated to admit it, but the
aboli just rubbed him the wrong way. And the fact that Jensen seemed to be all
over the bastard didn’t help things either.
He’d grown more and more uncomfortable in the aboli’s lair. Watching people
around him move through their lives, trading goods and services, taking care of
one another, slave and free men alike, it went in against everything he’d ever
been taught.
Kane had taken them to his place, but it hadn’t helped. Not with Steve playing
guitar in the living room and sassing at Kane, before he noticed Jared and
jumped up, spooked, the slave mark standing out against his pale face.
Not with Sam cooking them dinner and running the entire household, despite
burns covering half her face, leaving bare hints of a slave mark behind.
Not with Sterling setting up his guns and acting as if he were ready to beat
the crap out of Jared for spooking poor Amber who’d been practicing her reading
in a corner. Kane said the man was overprotective with any slave in the
village, and especially those in the house with him. Looking at how terrified
some of them were, Jared couldn’t blame the guy for being a mother hen.
Jared knew he was being unfair to Kane, that the man was doing him a favor and
he should be grateful. But Jensen was his slave. Well he was government
property until Jared could buy him, but even just for now, Jensen was in his
custody. Kane hadn’t owned Jensen in almost two decades, so what rights did he
think he had? What rights did that aboli loser have to Jensen?
And the worst part was that Kane would say that he had no rights to Jensen at
all. Kane didn’t want to steal Jensen. He wanted to set him free. He wanted to
take Jensen, Jared’s Jensen, move him up to Canada and throw him out into
freedom. But how the hell was a slave like Jensen supposed to deal with
freedom? Jared didn’t want to listen to all the crap Kane, and even Gen, kept
spouting. It wasn’t like there weren’t some things wrong. No system was
perfect. But slavery protected slaves as well as owners, it had to. It kept
them fed, clothed, cared for. It gave them purpose.
And if he tried to ignore the small community living in the sewers, then that
was his good right. Hadn’t he given enough to save this city to be allowed some
blinders of his own?
Jensen was a slave, born, bred and raised. It wasn’t like he’d ever known what
it was like to be free, or had any concept of what it was like to make his own
choices. Even the choices he did make were based on pleasing his owners, past
and present. This wasn’t some kidnapped kid who got a mark put on his face and
then got sold. Kids like that had at least grown up free, they’d been raised
for it. It made it harder for them to live as slaves, but once released, they
could probably readjust to normal life.
Not that the government ever allowed it, once marked, you were a slave, whether
you were sold legally or not. They couldn’t risk abolis trying to pretend a
slave was their kid just to steal them out of slavery. But even keeping that in
mind, people who were enslaved at a later age, either after they fell into
debt, or fell into it illegally, could technically readjust. Born slaves on the
other hand… didn’t have a chance.
Jensen needed someone like Jared, who understood that he needed clear orders,
things to do. Kane would never get that. He’d probably think he could kick
Jensen out into the open and expect him to take care of himself. And Jared
wouldn’t let Kane put Jensen through that kind of hell. Jensen was his duty,
his responsibility, his to protect, his.
It didn’t matter how smart a slave was. At their core they just wanted one
thing, to serve.
Or so he’d always been told.
Until Sam nearly beat him with a spoon for daring to give her orders and Amber
told him a clear no, supported by Sterling standing by her side and backing her
up. No matter how hard she was shaking as she did so.
Jensen just seemed so small, waiting for orders as they planned to head into
the building. It was a silly thought. Kane was several inches shorter, yet… the
way Jensen pulled himself in, took care to limit the amount of space he took,
it made Jared want to touch him, to give him a hug and tell him he was safe,
but he didn’t think it would help.
“So how are we getting in?”
“Maintenance. There’s a small company that handles most electrical issues in
the building. They need too much training for it to be left to slaves. “
“In a supervillain lair?”
“Most of the building is used by legitimate companies, only a few of them are
actually owned by the Jolly Roger. The rest are just the usual evil-hearted
multibillion-dollar businesses. Of all those floors it’s only the penthouse
that’s run by the Jolly Roger himself. And the Roger might even be the least
evil CEO in the building when you think of it.”
“You’re not as funny as you think you are, Kane.”
“Jay….”
“Yeah, I get it, keep quiet.“ Jared took another look. “But what about Jensen?”
“It’s not that out of the ordinary for a maintenance crew to use slaves for
heavy lifting and cleanup duties.”
“That and besides, he’s the only one of the lot of us who’d actually know what
to do if anyone expected us to actually fix something.” Gen chuckled as she
said the words.
“Only electronics, ser. I do not know anything about plumbing beyond cleaning
toilets, ser.”
Jared couldn’t help laughing at that. It wasn’t even funny, but the stress of
the past few days was just too much for him. The others grinned along with him
before moving back to business.
Kane’s information hadn’t come cheap. He’d had to delve into their resources,
use some favors the abolis had left. One of those favors was granted by Monrose
Carver, a man who’d been pro-slavery for his entire life until his own children
had been taken. Kane had promised to find both boys and get them the hell out
of the country and into Canada as soon as the abolis got their hands on them.
Kane hadn’t even seemed to mind cashing in on that favor.
Half an hour later they were all ready, dressed in uniforms of a maintenance
company, set in a car of said company and carrying all the tools of the trade.
Well Jensen carried most of the heavy stuff since it kept attention off of him.
Jared just grabbed a bag or two that would keep his face in shadow, making sure
the cameras wouldn’t get a clear view. He might be screwing up his own life,
but there was no need to make matters even worse for his family as well.
It was almost too easy, as if the uniforms were almost as good as a slave mark
in keeping people from seeing their true selves. No one stopped them. They were
even allowed to take the main elevator up to the forty-fifth floor. They
weren’t so lucky after that. At that point when they got out of the elevators,
there was a guard ready to check their permits. He glared at the papers. For a
moment Jared was worried, but it seemed that Kane’s set was decent enough to
get them through
The biggest problem really was that this was as far as their security clearance
would get them. The top five floors belonged to the Jolly Roge’s bogus
corporation and there was no way a bunch of outsiders would be allowed that
far.
They waited another minute for their cargo to arrive, Jensen sitting on top of
one of the boxes, holding on to them for security. Slaves weren’t allowed up in
the regular elevator, and though the freight elevator was considered too dingy
to be used by free men, no one saw a reason to keep slaves out of them.
Still, better that than forty-five floors of stairs.
Jensen got up as soon as the doors opened and started dragging everything out
of the elevator. By the time he got the third one out, the guard was positively
salivating at the sight of Jensen bending over to put down yet another box.
“There’s normally no slaves allowed on this floor.” The guy was almost drooling
by now.
“What? You can’t expect us to carry all that stuff ourselves.” Gen sounded
almost righteously offended, looking quite hot even in the overalls they were
all wearing a version of. But the guy wasn’t even looking at her.
“Only with special permission. But I’m sure I can keep an eye on your boy while
you guys are busy.”
“He’s on the papers.” Kane tried.
“Only with special permission,” the guy repeated before he leered at Jensen.
“But I’m sure I can make an exception, if you let me… check him over, make sure
he’s not some spy trying to get in.”
Jared almost threw up at the tone in his voice, realizing what the guy wanted,
even if he didn’t flat out say it. “No way,“ But Kane shushed him.
The Aboli turned to look at Jensen, who didn’t seem to have a problem with the
situation. Of course he didn’t. It was just par for the course for him, being
used, abused…. How could anyone ever get used to crap like that, and why should
they? Jared was about to speak up when Kane jumped over the desk and bashed the
asshole in the face, knocking him out in one go.
“Gen, take his place, if anyone comes close….”
“I’ve got your number. I know.”
Then Kane grabbed some weapons out of the box, threw one of them to Jared and
some others to Jensen, who accepted them warily, before he pulled a ski mask
over his own face. Only then did Kane lead the rest of them down the hall and
up to the stairway to the top floors. Less likely to be noticed, but still
forcing them to climb five floors.
Jared could handle it. Breathing was optional for him. It would be even easier
if he just flew up the stairs, but that might set off some kind of alarm. He
wanted to check up on Jensen, but the slave didn’t even seem to break a sweat.
Jared was almost disappointed when Kane didn’t seem to have any issue either.
But then looking at Aboli Central, he was probably used to long walks up and
down stairs. Jared hated to admit just how much he’d wanted Kane to struggle at
anything. It was just the way that Jensen looked at Kane. As if he’d hung the
sun and the moon. Jared wanted for Jensen to realize that Kane was just a man
and it didn’t help when Kane broke out the stairwell door and kicked the crap
out of the first guard they met before Jared could even make his first move. By
the time Jared took down two, Kane had already taken down the other five. And
this while Jared was the one using his energy blasts. What the hell was up with
this guy?
Jensen just stood back until one last guard tried to attack Kane in the back,
and then all Jensen had to do was aim his hand at the guy before the man went
down.
“Neutralizer?” Kane asked.
Jensen nodded. “It doesn’t cause harm,” Jensen whispered as he put his hand on
the wall. The circuits lit up. “I’m downloading the schematics,” he said as
lights flashed in his eyes.
Kane accepted that and moved on. Jared just looked at Jensen, wondering just
where the slave was hiding that weapon of his and how it worked. It was one of
a hundred questions he had to put aside for now. He wasn’t sure how much longer
he could ignore any of them.
***** Chapter 13 *****
 [ photo 02_divider-je_zps60aaa00d.png]
 
The security in the building was abysmal. And not just because Jensen was there
to deactivate what little there was before Jared could even consider tripping
it. It was funny just how loud and clumsy the hero was when he was solid. Even
funnier that Jared, Master Jared, didn’t even seem to realize it.
At least Master Chris didn’t seem to have the same problem. Both him and Miss
Gen worked together seamlessly, showing a long history of doing so in the past.
It was obvious that Master Chris didn’t like leaving her on her own. It wasn't
that Master Chris didn't trust Miss Gen to guard their back. No, he kept that
for Master Jared. Master Chris seemed to think that Master Jared was about as
competent as a newborn baby.
Jensen jumped over one of the counters and put his hand on one of the computer
panels attached to the walls. He had the cameras under his control mere seconds
later. After that it was a matter of opening up one of the control panels,
pulling out the mainframes, some microchips and a whole lot of wiring. Master
Jared seemed impatient, but Jensen didn't let it stop him. He smiled as he
activated his creation, using his nanites to speed up the process. Jensen
wondered why Master Jared was so surprised. It wasn't like it was hard for
Jensen to create a cursory camouflage shield. It wouldn’t hide them from human
eyes, but it should shield them from the few cameras not tied to the system,
which Jensen already had under his control. And motion sensors might as well
not exist.
It was the technology hiding behind the walls that was the first sign that
they’d left the regular corporate hell behind. The further they went past the
hallway, the more the pretense of this being a regular business fell to pieces.
Jensen almost salivated as they entered the kind of high tech lair that Master
Jolly had always favored.
Jensen wondered who was providing Master Jolly’s technology. Whoever it was
wasn’t even close to Jensen's level, but they were better than the majority of
what you could find on the free market.
Master Jolly always had the best toys. Jensen should know, he was one of them.
Master Jared said this wasn't the real Jolly Roger. All the evidence said that
Master Jolly had died ten years ago. They had his body, burned to ashes, still
stuck in the robot he'd used trying to destroy the UN. They said it matched his
DNA. But this was the Jolly Roger, Jensen's Master, a man who knew every trick
in the book. Who'd faked his death more than once. Even now, Jensen couldn't
believe that the man was gone.
Being here in the Jolly Roger's lair, it should have his heart racing. He
should be happy. A bit nervous maybe, scared that his Master would be furious
that Jensen hadn't come looking for him.
But this was his Master, and the Jolly Roger had beaten down every attempt at
rebellion in any slave he’d ever owned. Sure, he didn't mind the occasional bit
of initiative. At least as long as you restricted it to things like sucking
your lips and suggesting a blowjob when you were in bed with him. Or getting
yourself slicked up and ready to distract him when one of his minions managed
to piss him off. Or even better, creating a new defense system before the
Master even asked for it.
But disobeying an owner? The real Master Jolly would have killed Jensen if he'd
even thought about running away from someone who owned him. Even if it was to
come back to him.
Master Jolly wanted a good slave. The kind of slave that Jensen had tried to be
his entire life. It's what his Master expected him to be. To look for Master
Jolly, he would have had to betray his guardians, his temporary Masters. His
true Master would never have approved of that.
There was a pit in his stomach that wouldn’t be filled no matter how much he
tried. Was he feeling guilty over having to make a choice? Slaves weren’t
supposed to choose, not whom they served, not which Master they preferred to
own them. Choices like that had been made for him his entire life.
It’s why being with Master Chris sliced into him as much as it did. Master
Chris would expect him to decide his own fate even though every cell in
Jensen's body rebelled against the very idea of it.
Jensen snapped out of it. Thoughts like that were a distraction, they pulled
him away from what was really messing with his head. It wasn’t something big.
It would be easier if it were one big thing that he could point out and say…
this is what’s wrong with the picture. Instead it was everything.
The lair looked like what someone who didn't know Master Jolly might imagine
the Jolly Roger’s base would look like. There were hints that felt as if they
came straight out of a documentary on the Jolly Roger. There were some of the
Master's nicknacks, replicas of his decorations. Most of the things here could
be bought on ebay if you had the money to do so.
There were the insignia that Master Jolly used. Some of his favorite things.
The paintings he’d had stolen from the Louvre the first year that Jensen had
been with him. That carpet the sultan of Aghriz had given to the Master when
he’d helped the boy king overthrow his local government. Even the Master’s toy
collection was firmly in place.
And yet… Master Jolly would never have allowed the two arch dragons to be that
near one another without making a joke out of it. And he definitely wouldn't
have put the red one in the front. Master Jolly always preferred silver over
red.
The numbers on the door were completely logical, following in numeric order.
Master Jolly would have switched them over. He’d been unable to tolerate order
in anything. To the point of OCD.
The place was too symmetrical, too…
It felt wrong. But not in a way that Jensen could explain. Not in a way he
could make sense of to the others. And why should they listen to him?
Master Chris, Chris, he’d told Jensen not to call him Master which was weird,
but it had been an order. Chris said he’d listen to whatever Jensen had to say.
But words were easy, believing them not so much. Not after years of hard taught
lessons on keeping his mouth shut, years of punishment for speaking out of
line. The only time any of his owners wanted him to open his mouth was when
someone wanted to put a dick in it.
There were only six guards in the security room and Chris made quick work of
them before Jared or Jensen could do a thing.
Jared and… Chris moved into the control room while Jensen used his nanites to
parse through the computer’s memory. The two free men were going through the
security feed, anything to find out where the bad guys were hiding Master
Morgan. Jensen tried to ease his mind, find some hint that he was wrong, that
Master Jared hadn't been speaking the truth when he said this was some kind of
copy cat.
When the alarms went off, he was still looking through files. He'd downloaded
every last one and memorized the ones that seemed essential while trying to
ignore the porn that one of the guards had been watching on his employer's
term. Jensen was grateful that none of his owners had ever expected him to
do... those things. No matter how well trained he was, Jensen didn't think he
could keep himself from fighting if any of his owners ever brought in a dog
like that.
His eyes first went to Jared, wondering what the… the hero had done now. But
Jared was sitting next to Master Chris and Jensen didn’t think that Master
Chris would have let him touch anything that could put them in danger.
And then he saw him, the Avenging Angel himself, soaring through the hall. No
camouflage, no caution. Oh fuck, the guy was going to get them all killed.
"Damn it, what the fuck is that idiot doing?" Master Chris muttered Jensen's
own frustrations. They both knew that they were going to have to save the hero
from his own good intentions. Well that and make sure he didn't hurt Gen while
he was at it.
His eyes first went to Jared, wondering what the… the hero had done now. But
Jared was sitting next to Master Chris. Jensen didn’t think that Master Chris
would have let him touch anything that could put them in danger.
Jared was up before Chris was, rising up through the ceiling. It was too late
for the alarms anyway. The Angel seemed surprised when he saw Jared appear.
They started talking, arguing, the Angel seemed almost worried, grabbing
Jared’s arm, pushing straight through it. Master Jared said something, and the
Angel nodded. He'd put his feet on the floor just as Sugar and Plastic attacked
the both of them.
Master Chris cursed and both he and Jensen ran up the stairs to join them. By
the time they got there, the two heroes were arguing loud enough to be heard
from miles away, all the while as they went up against a literal army of the
Jolly Roger's minions.
The minions of course didn't stand a chance. The Avenging Angel's wings cut
through the mob with the kind of ease that sent shivers down Jensen's spine.
And Jared was all-out magnificent as his power crackled around him.
Jensen didn't see Plastic anywhere, but Sugar was glaring up at the two heroes
from the side of the room, pissed off at something that the Angel had said.
"Why should I even trust you?!" Jared shouted at Sugar who smashed her fist
into the wall before jumping up at Master Jared. She forced his head into the
floor, knocking him down hard enough that it made Jensen's head hurt just
watching it.
Before long the two were crashing down walls, making the rest of them duck for
cover. When Jensen found Plastic trying to sneak up on him, he didn’t even
hesitate to paralyze the other slave.
Plastic was a bit younger than Jensen, about Thunder’s age. His mark appeared
again, hard to see on the slave’s dark face, yet no longer hidden because of
the other’s powers. Jensen wondered how any slave could live like that,
pretending they were a person, that they were free. His gut clenched at the
thought.
“I’m sorry, the effect should wear off soon.”
Plastic glared up at him.
“I have no intention to turn you in. I would not do that to another slave."
Plastic closed his eyes for a second. Jensen noticed a twinge at his lips,
muscles relaxing, even as the guy's eyes kept moving. He looked desperate to
find a way out of this.
“Do you know where your Master is keeping Master Morgan?” Jensen kept an eye
out for the Avenging Angel. He knew he'd have to get Plastic out of here if the
Angel caught sight of Plastic's mark.
“I don’t have a Master.” The words were drawled out. Jensen could barely
understand the other slave even sitting right next to him. The both of them
kept out of the way of the fight between Thunder and Sugar.
Jensen snorted at the idea. It seemed to insult the super.
“I just work for the Jolly Roger. Me and Danneel, Sugar. He gives us money, we
work for him.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Why’s that?”
“Master Jolly would never allow a slave to act above his station.”
“Yeah well, he does for me. Because of my powers. I’m useful!”
“He would not do that.“ Jensen knew this for a fact.
Master Jolly had once had him beaten within an inch of his life because he’d
spoken out of line. Jensen had dared to tell his owner that the man was wrong
to like one song over another. Jensen couldn't even remember what song it had
been. He hadn’t been serious about it no matter what he'd said. It had been a
joke, an attempt at copying the behavior of someone, a kid he'd seen on
television. He should have known better.
The Master hadn’t found it funny.
Jensen had to spend weeks proving his way back in his Master’s good graces. The
Master had him service any and all members of the Master’s crew. It almost
destroyed him, getting used like the commodity he was. He wasn't used to it
anymore. All until the Master believed that Jensen had gotten the lesson. That
his slave understood just what he was; and that no matter how smart he thought
he was, he’d always be beneath even the lowest of the Master’s foot soldiers.
The day the Master allowed him back in his bed, Jensen had done everything in
his power to show Master Jolly just how good he could be, his mind keeping up
the prayer that the Master wouldn’t send him back to the barracks. It had taken
him another month before he was allowed to return to the lab. It caused endless
delays in the production of the tools the Master needed, another thing he’d
been punished for. Yet despite that, the Master didn’t let Jensen out of his
bedroom until he was completely sure that Jensen knew his place.
Jensen had learned his lesson.
“Yeah well, I’m not… he listens to me,” Plastic said, insisting on it as if he
were trying to prove something to himself. “I matter to him.”
“So did I. He still didn’t let me forget what I was.”
The words between them came out in whispers, but they were easy to understand
for both of them.
“Who is he, Plastic?”
“The Jolly Roger.”
“No, he isn’t. Who is he? And where’s he keeping Master Morgan?”
“I don’t know.“
“We both know the man isn't the real Jolly Roger. And we both know he isn't
Master Jolly's true successor. At least not one that the true Jolly Roger would
have accepted as such. But he lied about that, didn't he? He pretended that he
had the Jolly Roger's permission. That he's honoring his legacy?"
"What legacy?" Plastic spat out. "That of a man who didn't respect you? A man
that would have thrown you out with the trash, no matter how much of his work
depended on you?"
Jensen shivered at the truth in that.
“How often did your owners tell you you were trash, Jensen? How often did they
spit on you, treat you as an animal? And you'll take it, you'll bow down before
them and act as if they are right. Because they made you believe it. Even
knowing that you're better than any of them. And yet you'll trust Morgan to be
better than that?”
“He’s my Master.” It came out more unsure than Jensen had imagined.
“Well, I don’t care who calls themselves my owner. I have no Master. I might
have a mark, but I’m not a slave and I won’t let them turn me into one, never
again.”
Jensen just didn’t understand, if you were a slave you were a slave. It was the
way life was, had to be, there was nothing else. Except that Chris told him he
could be free, and Gen kept telling him he didn’t have to be what they wanted
him to be. And he just didn’t understand it. Any of it. All he knew was that he
wanted his Master.
“I just want to find my father,” he said, the f-word had slipped out before he
even realized it.
“Morgan? Fuck. That’s why the old man bought you?”
“Master Chris says so.”
Plastic hesitated, staring at Master Chris, who was fending off the last of the
minions, keeping out of Sugar's way. Where his interactions with Master Jared
had been filled with uncertainty, he seemed to flat out treat the Angel as a
threat.
“My old man didn’t even think about it. It was hand me over for sale, or go to
debtor’s court and be enslaved himself. I can’t even blame him. We wouldn’t
have stood a chance without him either way. I had two younger sisters. At least
I was nine when I was sold, Kerry and Grace were toddlers. They’d never know
freedom. They might even have thought it was... normal. Like you do.”
“It would have been easier on them,” Jensen stated.
“It shouldn’t have to be. When my powers kicked in, I knew I had to get out of
there, so I did. Slipped right out of the house, that life and everything that
came with it. I wasn’t gonna let that bastard keep pawing me. Who knows how
long I had before he started fucking me."
Probably not long. Plastic was attractive as an adult, as a child, he’d have
been even more tempting to a certain type of Master.
“The Jolly Roger won’t give him up. Morgan I mean.”
Plastic tried to get up, but the neutralizer still hadn’t stopped working.
“Let me up.”
Jensen didn’t answer.
“Let me up and I’ll bring you right to him.”
 
 [ photo 02_divider-j_zps2102f953.png]
 
 
They’d been switching over the video footage when the alarms sounded off. Jared
might not be the expert that Jensen was, but he wasn’t even remotely as
inexperienced as Kane seemed to believe him to be either. He had spent the past
few years on the occasional guard duty with Chad, which had taught him a trick
or two over the years.
What he didn’t expect was that moving the urgency of the alarms over to a back
part of the building that they didn’t expect to use would get all the alarms
going off. Jared almost stopped breathing when he realized the source of the
alarm.
Misha. Misha, who was flying through the hallway, probably trying to sneak in
as they had. And who was now being attacked by an army of minions. He instantly
lost solidity and moved through the ceiling. No longer worried about setting
off alarms, all that mattered now was to get to Misha and help him out before
he had to work himself into too much of a sweat.
“Jared?” Misha kicked down another pair of minions. “What the hell are you
doing here?”
“Sneaking into the building to try and find Morgan,” he said before he went up
against the guards. The hardest part was not to harm any of them as he took
them out.
“Have you completely lost your mind?” Jared had rarely seen Misha that angry.
“Ja… Thunder. This isn’t some minor gang boss. This is one of the most
dangerous crime lords in the city. If they get their hands on you, you’ll be
lucky if they just kill you. “
Jared cringed.
“Why would you even think of coming in here on your own?”
“You’re….” Jared started, but Misha simply glared at him and took out another
few guards before Jared had the chance to do it for him.
“That’s me. I’ve been at this for over twenty years. I know what I’m doing.
Damn it, Jared. You’re a kid, you can’t just pull this kind of crap if you want
anyone to take you serious.”
“I’m not on my own.” Jared managed to respond.
“What?”
“I’m not on my own. I brought Jensen.”
“You brought your slave, yes, that makes me feel so much better.”
“He’s not just a slave, Misha. He’s the Brain.” It slipped out before Jared
could stop himself. Misha seemed stumped.
“What?” the man repeated.
“Jensen is the Brain.” Jared didn’t stop, trying to keep Misha from
interrupting him. “He doesn’t have powers. But he’s smart, really really
smart.”
“You brought the Brain into the Jolly Roger’s lair? Jared, “ Misha seemed
almost stunned. He grabbed Jared’s arm. Jared lost substance before he could
stop himself. “He’ll betray you. You can’t trust a slave.”
“He won’t,” Jared stated. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that.
“Look, we can talk about this later. Let’s take out the bad guys first, right?”
Misha nodded and set his feet back on the floor, just in time for Jared to fall
still as he noticed Sugar and Plastic joining the fray. Only they seemed
hesitant in what side to take. For a moment Jared wondered what to do, thinking
about how the two of them had come to his and Jensen’s rescue only a few days
ago.
After that the fight went fast. Sugar was one of few people that made Jared
want to use his powers at full blast, knowing she’d survive it. The only reason
he didn’t, was because he knew no one else would be able to do the same.
Jared was about to have his head smacked into the floor, and they had made a
few holes that way already, when a voice rang through the room.
“Danneel, stop.”
She kicked Jared one last time before she got off of him. Jared would have
fought back, but then he saw Jensen and Plastic standing side by side.
“The Brain’s right, something’s up with the Jolly Roger. Something’s been up
with him for a while. And trying to get his hands on a slave like this… it
ain’t what he told us he was fighting for.“
“Aldis…”
“I’m not sure we can trust him, Danneel.”
Sugar, Danneel, seemed to hesitate, spitting at Jared one last time before she
backed off.
“You let Aldis and me out of here, no issue, and we’ll bring you to Morgan.”
This was aimed at Jared. It was obvious they didn’t think that Chris would
stand any chance of helping them out if Jared didn’t agree. She seemed to trust
Misha even less. Jared gulped, not sure what decision to make.
He looked at Plastic, whose slave mark was once again fading out of sight.
Jared took a deep breath and agreed for all of them and against Misha’s
protest. “But you leave the city right after. If I see either of you ever
again, I’m calling the bureau and telling them we’ve got a runaway slave on our
hands. Understood?”
It was a false threat. Jared knew he’d never bring himself to do it. But the
way they and Kane looked at him, none of them seemed to hold his morality in
that high regard.
Making their way into the lair became a lot easier after that, Sugar and
Plastic helped, playing guards and pretending they’d taken the four of them
captive, that the fight was over and Jared and Misha were now being escorted to
the cells along with Kane and Jensen, who pretended to be hapless bystanders
pulled into something above their pay grade. Jared couldn’t help think back to
his first big adventure and how he’d found Jensen at the end of it. He’d let
Jensen go then, handed him over to the cops.
This time he’d make damn sure to take Jensen home with him. Even if he had to
sell his bike in order to get the money together to pay for him. He just had to
make Misha calm down, get him to see that it was for the best to get Jensen
under their supervision. Make use of him, instead of… Jared gulped at the
thought of what might be done to the slave. He wouldn’t let anything happen.
Get himself set up with proper quarters. He could look after Jensen, make him
happy, no matter what Chris said.
Kane and Gen didn’t know what they were talking about. Jensen would be happy.
He was raised a slave. Slaves like Jensen needed a Master, someone kind but
firm, who looked after them and took care of them.
The prison cells looked dark as Jared passed them, as they went deeper and
deeper into the darkness. Jared knew the cuffs on his hands were fakes, but
that didn’t make them any easier to bear. He felt someone glaring at him, it
took him a moment to realize it was Misha. He tried to ignore it. Misha was
probably pissed off that Jared found out about Jensen being the Brain, and
instead of turning him in, he’d kept quiet about it. He couldn’t blame the guy
for that.
Jared almost instinctively stopped breathing as they opened the door to
Morgan’s cell. The man sat in a corner, his beard untended after several days
without care. From the way the others acted, the smell in the place had to be
bad. Jared was the first to step inside the cell. When Morgan saw him, he
froze, tried to hide something he’d been working on.
“We’re here to help,” Jared said.
Morgan seemed in shock. Jared barely noticed Plastic, who seemed shocked at the
way Morgan had been treated, as if he hadn’t been aware what had been
happening. Jared dropped out of the cuffs and quickly knelt down next to
Morgan.
“Are you alright?”
“Am I supposed to trust you.…” Morgan whispered. His voice sounded harsh, his
lips looked dehydrated.
Jared didn’t understand.
“The other so-called hero, he pretended he was here to help as well. At first
at least.” Morgan’s voice was harsh. Kane stepped closer and offered him a
package of something from his pockets. It turned out to be a tube of water.
Morgan seemed confused. “He said he wanted to save me, all I had to do… all he
wanted from me was to give up my slave. He said he would look after Jensen,
that Jen needed… special care. I refused. ‘Course I did. But then when I said
no, he... he beat the crap out of me. I won’t fall for that again.”
“I’m not here to trick you, Mister Morgan.”
Morgan snorted at that.
“We’ve got to hurry, guards are coming.” Morgan stared in shock when he saw
Jensen.
“Jensen….”
Jensen bowed his head, but didn’t respond.
“You brought Jensen, are you insane, he’s going to….”
Jared wasn’t sure what was going on. He wondered if Morgan was talking about
Wolf, Tyler Hoechlin. Jared remembered when the guy had left the team amongst a
string of major fights. Jared never knew what they were about, or why he’d
left. Just that at the end of them, Hoechlin had grabbed up his stuff and left
without saying a word. Months later he was seen fighting alongside the bad
guys.
Jared wouldn’t have been surprised to see him here now.
Morgan tried to get to his feet. Jensen was with him, offering the old man his
support as soon as he could.
Things were quiet, too quiet. Jared was about to check on them when he realized
what was missing. He looked back only to find Misha standing over the splayed
out bodies of Plastic and Sugar.
“It’s so hard to find good help these days,” Misha said, a big grin on his
face. He looked like a stranger, shadows framing his face, a mad grin that
didn’t reach his eyes.
“Misha?”
But Misha ignored him. “Hug your boy as much as you can, Morgan, because I’m
going to enjoy tearing him apart.”
***** Chapter 14 *****
 [ photo 02_divider-je_zps60aaa00d.png]
Jensen didn’t understand, one moment the Angel had been watching their back,
and the next he took out their allies. Something was wrong with him. So wrong.
Jensen couldn’t help but stare as the Angel moved a button at his belt. The
next second, it was like the illusion slid off of the man as if it were water,
showing the Jolly Roger’s costume instead of that of the Avenging Angel.
Dangerous sharp wings transformed into a semi-metalic armor that, according to
Jensen’s nanites, wasn’t magnetizable. He didn’t quite look like the original
Jolly Roger. For one thing, he was far too tall to be Jensen’s old Master. But
there was something in his stance, that same arrogant look the Master had
whenever he put his suit on.
Jensen realized that that arrogance had been there in the Angel as well. Jensen
just hadn’t seen it before, too busy holding a grudge against the hero.
He just didn’t understand why someone like the Avenging Angel would do this. He
already held the world in the palm of his hand. Why waste that by going
supervillain?
“You really should have stayed out of this, Jared. Kept buttering up that boy
of yours until I could claim him. But you just couldn’t do that, could you?”
Master Jared looked devastated. As if something had broken inside of him. His
eyes looked misty, as If he were fighting tears from breaking loose. Jensen
knew that Jared wasn’t solid, but he didn’t look as if he’d be breathing even
if he were.
“Please tell me you’re just undercover?” Jared sounded so small as he said
that. His face was even, but Jensen knew that kind of face. He’d seen it in the
mirror often enough before he stopped pretending to be a person.
When the false Jolly Roger let out a blast, Jensen quickly jumped in the way,
using a nannite shield to hold back the blast. He was barely in time to keep it
from hurting the younger hero. Jensen knew without thinking that it was a blast
meant specifically for Jared, as if the Angel had been waiting for a chance to
take out his former pupil since the start.
Misha glared at Jensen. The predatory glint in his eyes made Jensen shiver. It
almost made him back off. He would have if he weren’t protecting his… Jensen
didn’t know what Thunder… Jared was to him, just that he couldn’t let him get
hurt.
“What do you even want with me? You should know I only served the Jolly Roger.
The real Jolly Roger,” Jensen whispered, trying to distract the man, giving
Jared a chance to pull himself together.
“I don’t need you to serve me, boy. “ The Angel was coming closer, his blast
pushing into Jensen’s shields. The nanites were pushed to the edge, cutting
into his bloodstream. He’d have to fix that flaw… if he lived long enough to do
so. Misha was barely recognizable, insane. “I just need you to give me the
codes.” He was laughing, almost hysterical.
Jensen felt his lips tremble, the stress pulling on him.
“The codes?” Jared piped in. “What codes?”
‘Yes, just a bit more,” Jensen thought. ‘Get to it Jared. He won’t stand a
chance against you,’ he wanted to say, but he was falling to his knees keeping
the blast at bay. Jensen stared back, noticing that Kane was holding Master
Morgan back, keeping him from jumping in between them and getting himself
killed.
“Bank numbers, security codes, passwords…” Seriously? Jensen couldn’t believe
this. That was what this was about?
“For years, I thought he’d hidden them somewhere in his bunker, in any of the
things I should have inherited but didn’t because the bastard disowned me. And
then I find out he gave them all to his little pet. His companion.
He didn’t even trust me to drive his car when I was a kid. But he gave his
slave, his fucking slave, the keys to the kingdom and the bastard never even
used them.”
Jensen didn’t understand. Disowned? By whom?
“They weren’t mine to use,” Jensen whispered. Well, except to invest the money,
increase it, add money from his raids, money he’d earned for his Master in case
he ever returned. The Master he’d been waiting for. The money wasn’t his, he
was just his owner’s notebook. The place that the Master used to hide his
secrets. The idea of spilling any of those had never even crossed his mind.
“He was my father, you know,” Misha spat out, as he finally pushed through
Jensen’s shields, grabbing Jensen’s chin and pulling him up. “My father, in
blood at least. Didn’t care one bit about me, or my mom. Left us in the slums
while he lived it up. Spending his time with this… thing.” Jensen gasped for
breath, trying to order his nanites to push through the oxygen, but he couldn’t
think. Couldn’t….
“By the time I confronted him, he just laughed in my face, said he didn’t need
some sidekick hanging around, sponging off his money. He even put it in his
will that I wasn’t going to inherit a dime after his death. It should have been
mine, all of it. But he wouldn’t let me have it no matter what. Said his
fucking slave was more useful than I’d ever be.”
Well, at least it made it easier for Jensen, knowing that Master Jolly’s will
hadn’t left him to the man in front of them. Such a strange thought to have as
he was being choked by the force put on him.
“He spent all his time on some plaything. Listening to him, spoiling him,
treating him as if he were his son. While me, his actual son, he ignored, and
treated like dirt. He gave his slave the keys to the kingdom. I didn’t even
exist as far as he was concerned. Why does a slave get everything?” The man
sounded almost heartbroken. Insane really, if he thought that Jensen had ever
truly mattered to Master Jolly. He’d just been a possession, a thing. It hurt
admitting that. That Master Jolly hadn’t cared about him either.
Jensen knew he was dying, but he wanted to reach out to the man, tell him he
understood. Only he couldn’t and the world was growing dark in front of his
eyes.
When air finally filled his lungs again, Jensen fell down, staring up as the
Angel was kicked up against the wall, with Jared putting himself between Jensen
and the Angel, the Jolly Roger.
Jared seemed furious. ”You’re jealous? Of what? That your father didn’t take
the time to rape you and beat the crap out of you? That he didn’t treat you
like dirt and then use you as a lock up box because he knew you were too
brainwashed to do anything with what he gave you… Because that’s what he did to
Jensen, Misha.” The words knotted in Jensen’s guts. “He twisted him. That
wasn’t love, not real love. You should be grateful that you were kept out of
that. Fuck, Misha. You were supposed to be the best of us. The one everyone
looked up to! I thought we were your family?”
Misha got back to his feet, a bit sluggishly, his wings reforming on his back,
the suit switching between the Angel’s and the Jolly Roger’s.
“Then why does this slave get a father who loves him?” Collins said, blood
sipping off his lips. “Tell me that, Jared? If he’s such an unfortunate victim,
why does he get a man that still won’t sell him to me, even if I threaten his
life, or that of his parents? Why does he get everything I ever wanted, when he
never even asked for it?”
“Because he’s not a fucking asshole that kidnaps people because he’s got daddy
issues,“ a familiar voice behind them said before hitting Misha in the back of
the head.
Both of them stared up at Morgan, who’d managed to get out of Kane’s hold and
had grabbed a chair form his cell to take out the bad guy, bruised and battered
or not.
“Hello, Jensen,” he said before crashing to the floor. Jensen ran up to him,
his hands moving along the man’s face.
“Master?” he asked, then as if trying out the word, “Daddy?”
 
 [ photo 02_divider-j_zps2102f953.png]
 
Jared was still in shock. It had taken seeing the light start fading in
Jensen’s body before he could get out of it enough to regain control and stop
the Jolly Roger, to stop Misha.
Misha. God, he still couldn’t believe it. It was like finding out that the
earth he’d been standing on his entire life was nothing but a sinkhole that had
been dragging him down all along and he hadn’t felt it’s pull until it was
almost too late.
Had it all been a game?
Jared couldn’t help but stare at Jensen and Morgan, the similarities between
the two of them. Jensen’s hand reached out as if he wasn’t sure if he was
allowed to touch, his hands clinging to his body, held in front of him as if
tied with cuffs. When Morgan regained consciousness, his first move was to pull
Jensen into a hug. The slave tensed up, sitting there, almost terrified, before
he relaxed in the older man’s arms. It should have been awkward. But it wasn’t.
“I’m sorry, Jensen. I should have told you sooner,” the man whispered, his
breathing harsh. Jared knew they had to get the man to a doctor, but he didn’t
want to interfere either.
Jared couldn’t see Jensen’s face, but he could hear the sound of low desperate
sobbing. It sounded as if even Jensen wasn’t aware what he was doing.
Jared wasn’t sure what to do now.
He should take Jensen home, continue his plan, buy Jensen, discipline him until
Jensen understood. He should arrest Misha, take down Sugar and Plastic, put
down all the slaves with powers that Misha had had working for him. He could do
all that and be the big hero, move straight up in the ranks.
Only, he didn’t think that Morgan was going to let Jensen go, and seeing the
two of them together, he didn’t think he wanted the man to do so either.
“I hate this,” he muttered.
“What? That you can’t just see him as a thing anymore?” He hadn’t even noticed
Sugar coming up to him.
“I never saw him as a thing,” he tried to explain. She snorted at his
statement.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I guess it sucks that you can’t see him as a pet anymore?”
Jared blushed.
“Thinking of humans as animals is no better than seeing them as objects,
Padalecki.” That was Kane, who looked far scarier than he should, considering
that Jared had over a head on him.
Jared wasn’t sure what to say.
“You think you’re a good man, just because you don’t abuse slaves, or would
step in if others did it. You think that if you’re not one of the monsters that
that makes it just fine. Doesn’t make closing your eyes to the reality of the
lives of millions of people any better.
“If you call yourself a hero, shouldn’t you act like one?”
Jared didn’t know.
“You have to wonder, if you took Jensen now, fed him, clothed him, disciplined
him and did everything you were planning to do. And then you had sex with him.
Do you think that would be the right thing to do?”
“No!” The vehemence of his own answer surprised even him.
“Why?”
“Because he wouldn’t be able to say no.”
“But doesn’t that mean that you think he has the right to say no? The one right
that our society tells us slaves don’t have?” That was Plastic. “It was the
first word I had to learn once Danneel saved me. The hardest word. And you
think he has the right to use it? After everyone else in his life told him he
has no right to it?”
Jensen was still talking to Morgan, the two of them seemingly working something
out.
“And if slaves are so dependent, so helpless that they need owners to tell them
what to do, then where does that leave us? Right now, there are slaves out
there who are smarter than any free man. And I’m not just talking about Jensen.
There are slaves out there who could be superheroes, or use their powers to
feed the hungry, heal the sick. But because they’re slaves, they’re either
killed, experimented on, forced to be villains, or hiding their powers just to
be able to survive. How much do you think that has cost society?”
The words hit like a lash and Jared couldn’t help imagine it, some little girl
working on a farm in Kansas who could have cured his grandfather’s cancer, some
little boy in Michigan dragged off to be killed and discarded like trash, who
could have been at least as powerful as Jared was now.
“If Jensen were a free man, if he’d been allowed to go to school, go to
college, live his life, we’d have already been on Mars. He would have
revolutionized technology, or worked to find a cure for MS or HIV or… anything.
But all that is impossible, because of a mere accident of birth and a law that
shouldn’t exist in the first place. “
“Is that the kind of society you want to protect, Thunder?” The name sounded
like an accusation, more than that, like a demand for justice. “Because from
what Gen told me about you, I don’t think it is.”
Jared looked at Jensen, the shy smile he gave Morgan.
“You won’t get him to join you to Canada either. Not now,” Jared said, the only
defense he had.
Kane just shrugged.
“That’s the hard part about giving them a choice, Padalecki. They get to say
no, whether you like it or not.” And that was the worst part of it, wasn’t it.
“But then, he’s not my slave, he’s my friend, my brother. And that won’t change
no matter what choice he makes.”
It was then that Jared realized Kane was right. And that he knew what to do.
He just hoped that Misha wouldn’t mind too much getting a tattoo and going into
service.
But then, the man did say he’d been jealous of Jensen’s life. Jared hoped for
his sake that he wouldn’t come to regret it too much.
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